Time Is On My Side
by Houseketeer
Summary: House, Cameron, HouseCam HouseCameron. This story started life as a one shot, but grew. Cameron plans to ask House out until either he or she can take no more.
1. Time Is On My Side

Disclaimer: the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

Author's Note: This is my first official fanfic. I am as eager for your constructive criticism as for your accolades. For maximum enjoyment, try reading as you listen to the song: if you read the same speed as me, you will reach the quotations as they play, and finish the story as the song ends.

House watched as Cameron left her table and crossed the now mostly deserted bar make a jukebox selection. He was surprised to hear the opening notes of _Time is On My Side_, but more surprised when she turned and walked straight towards the bar where he stood with Wilson.

"May I have this dance?"

"Absolutely not."

"Come on," she said, gripping his right hip with her left hand. "I paid a quarter and everything." She started to sway in time as the lyrics started, and he couldn't help but start to dance along. He continued to lean on his cane, but placed his left hand at her waist. She snaked her right arm up to grip his shoulder. Slowly they moved toward the vacant dancing area.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a Stones fan."

"You only think you have me pegged."

"Well I've got everyone else in the room figured out," he said, scanning the other patrons. "They're thinking, 'how did an aged relic like him score _her_?'"

"Why can't they be thinking something more flattering, like 'lucky son-of-a-bitch'?"

He scoffed. "Because I'm not lucky. I'm forced to dance against my will by a stalker."

Her eyes dropped to the floor. "I get that you don't want me. Just shut up and let me enjoy my dance."

He held her imperceptibly closer, and soon her forehead was touching his cheek. "I told you I'd just end up hurting you," he whispered.

Defeated, she dropped her forehead to rest on his shoulder. "That's patently ridiculous. What makes you think that you'll hurt me less by denying me the _one_ thing I want most?"

"You don't know _what_ you want."

She looked directly into his eyes. "I want you."

"Then you're quite the little masochist. How many times do I have to turn you down before it sticks?"

She dropped her gaze, and they danced in silence for a few moments.

_You'll come running back,_

_You'll come running back,_

_You'll come running back,_

_To me-e-e._

"I've pitched woo, and been shot down by you _many_ times."

"That's my point--"

She cut him off. "You can talk when I'm finished. Just now, I thought: Wow. I don't know how much more of this I can take before I give up."

"Success!"

"Shut UP. Then I realized—if there's a limit to how much rejection I can take, that means there's a limit to how much _you_ can dish out."

"What are you talking about?"

"You like me just as much if not more than I like you. AND you don't want me to suffer. You must be feeling the strain worse than me. You can't stand to shoot me down forever. Time is on my side."

_Time is on my side, yes it is._

_Time is on my side, yes it is_

He opened his mouth to answer back, but snark failed him. He closed it, and she silently accepted his defeat. She ran her hands up is back to grip his shoulders, pressing her body against his. She could feel his heartbeat. She took a deep breath of his smell, in case it was her last chance. Later it would take an hour in the department store to identify it. He rested his chin on the top of her head for a moment. Although she did not detect it, he then dropped the softest of kisses at the part of her hair. Later, he would remember that action as the beginning of the end.

She met his eyes, and smiled. "Have dinner with me tomorrow?"

"Under no circumstances."

Confident that his resolve would _one day_ fail, her smile didn't falter. "Maybe next time."

When the song ended, she turned and walked out of the bar without a backwards glance, leaving him alone with Wilson, and the certain knowledge that his days were numbered.


	2. Stones Lead to Trouble Again

**Author's Note:** I intended _Time Is On My Side_ to be a one off. But, as soon as I finished I was inspired with more content. diam0ndsinthesky, you got your hope. queenb81385, thanks for the encouragement! xyber116, I hope you don't mean _too_ angsty. KylaRyan, thank you forever for being my first review! Now that I've written one, suddenly begging for reviews has become acceptable in my eyes. Drop me a note readers! I don't know how much more is coming, but comments are encouraging.

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

Let's start the show.

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Since her revalation while dancing with House, Cameron was filled with a new sense of determination. "_You can't stand to shoot me down forever"._ He was going to crack, unquestionably. The problem was, who would crack first? Every time he rejected her it got worse instead of better, at least it had until this weekend. That time, filled with courage by the dance and his speechlessness, it had slid right off. _"Maybe next time.''_

She wasn't sure how many more 'next times' she had in her, but she resolved there would be one a week until someone broke. She liked her chances.

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**The Next Wednesday**

House picked the pickle slices off his Ruben, one at a time, added a bit of mustard for glue, and threw them at the nearest cafeteria wall. Most fell to the floor, but a pleasing few adhered themselves.

"Don't you think that's a trifle childish?" asked Wilson.

"Not as childish as ignoring the 'no pickles' request."

"You think that was intentional? Your paranoia is showing. You know," he stopped, when he saw that Houses attention was fixed on something behind him: Cameron talking to an attractive young doctor. She curled a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looked at the floor. "Parker, pediatrics."

"Hmm?" House returned his attention to his pickle warfare.

"I don't see why you're so unwilling to discuss that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. We can discuss my evidence for the pickle thing being intentional. Eat your salad and listen. One, I think they're onto me about the steak thing. Two, the traditional Ruben doesn't even _include_ pickles. Three," he trailed off as he saw who was approaching.

Cameron walked boldly up to the table. "Dr. Wilson," she nodded a greeting. "Dr. House, I wonder if you might like to see a movie this weekend." He stared at her, incredulous. "You can choose, but I've heard good things about Borat."

He gave a sarcastic, "No." as if to say _you already know the answer so why do you ask?_

"Mm-k, maybe next time," she chirped, and flounced off to eat her lunch with Chase and Foreman.

"Next time?" Wilson asked with raised eyebrows. "This is about that dance at the bar." A look from House told him it was pointless to question further. "Anyways. It's a good idea, you wanna go see Borat Saturday?"

"Cultural learnings of America for make benefit glorious nation of Kazakhstan? I'm there."

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**Four Weeks Later, Friday**

House was hiding in the private room of his favorite coma patient. A month was certainly long enough to pick up a pattern: once a week Cameron asked him out. The second week, Thursday, to her house to watch an OC marathon. Least objectionable was when it came early in the week; last Monday she had asked him bowling. He enjoyed that he had Tuesday through Sunday to live without fear of her next request. But not this week. Every time she saw him, he braced himself for the request, the rejection.

He popped a Nacho Cheese Dorito and crunched loudly. "Bowling, Stan! Do you believe it?" He looked over at his motionless companion. "Yeah, she had me speechless too."

He watched the TV, but his mind was on the clock. Just a few more hours and he could sneak out, turn off the ringer on the phone, and be safe until next week. She'd never find him here.

She peaked her head in the doorway. _Famous last words_. He groaned. "Cuddy's looking for you," she informed him as she slipped into the second visitor's chair.

"That's why I'm _hiding_" he replied.

"_That_ is not why you're hiding. Jessica Williams is in town."

He laughed, in spite of himself. "I am not hiding from jazz pianists."

"No, just me. Will you go to the concert with me?"

"I've already planned to go."

"Oh…"

"Maybe _next time? _You can't keep doing this."

"I can if you can." She left the room.

"You see what I mean Stan? No peace."

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**And the Wednesday After That**

Wilson and House stood outside the patient's room and watched through the glass. After a long week's work, he and the team had finally diagnosed the kid, but that wasn't good news. It was untreatable, it meant a slow loss of function and an eventual painful death. He had come down to watch Cameron deliverer the news. His method of giving her "extra practice" in this area seemed to be paying off, and he liked to see her a bit stronger each time.

She came out and stood beside them at the window. He expected some words about the patient, the family.

"Are you going to the Monster Trucks this weekend?"

He stared at her, dumb-struck. She looked ahead, at the grieving family. "'Cause _I_ was going to go, but my car is in the shop. So if you're going," she turned to face House, "Could I get a ride?"

"I…I'm not going," he lied. Jim had bought him tickets to make up for missing last time.

"Oh. OK." She turned back to face the window.

"I could drive you Cam," Wilson put in, and was rewarded with a cane to the ribs.

"Oh, thanks. Don't worry. There's nothing wrong with my car." She left them there, neither sure who was more shocked.

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**The Next Tuesday**

Cameron came upon House, talking to Wilson as he waited for the elevator. She looked at House. "Do you have plans this weekend?

"Cameron, I have a plan for every weekend from _now_ until the end of _time_." The elevator opened, and he hobbled in.

The doors began to close. "The reason I ask is I have an extra ticket to the Rolling Stones." A cane shot out at the last second, and the doors opened. She smiled. "Pretty good seats, row 7 center. To bad you have plans…"

He held the elevator open with his cane. He was tormented. The idea of her going there with someone else tore him apart, but there was no way he could take her himself. "Yeah." He lowered it, and the doors closed leaving Cameron outside.

She turned to Wilson. "Here, you take him." She held out the tickets.

"No! You take someone else. Do you know what these are worth?"

"Wilson, take the tickets." She handed them to him, and he reluctantly accepted.

"Okay, but you come with me then. They're your tickets. And it will drive him crazy."

"Once he said 'no' there was no way I was going to that concert. Please, take House. Your way is probably better…_strategy_, but I couldn't. It's in Atlantic City. I'll call and have my hotel reservation transferred to your name." Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Don't worry, the room has two beds, you'll be fine. I'm off to clinic duty."

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Wilson made for House's office, where he found him tossing his oversized tennis ball. He threw the tickets down on the desk. "So, you and me, _Stones_, Atlantic City. I think you should drive."

House caught the ball, and brought his feet down off the desk. He stared at the tickets. "Row 7 center? She **gave** these to you?!"

"Yes….?"

House practically ran out of the office, leaving Wilson behind. He made a beeline for the clinic, and burst into the exam room where Cameron was suturing a laceration on the back of a teen girl's hand.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

She looked up. "Excuse me?"

"Don't pretend innocence. You're diabolical. Why did you give Wilson those tickets?"

"You turned me down."

"And? You find someone else to go with. The martyr routine won't get you anywhere."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you. I just don't want to go, if not with you."

"Go with Wilson!"

"You aren't listening. I don't want to go with anyone else."

He opened his mouth, closed it.

"You'll have a good time. Now, scurry back upstairs or I'll call Cuddy and tell her you came to the clinic of your own volition."

His hand was on the door knob. "_What if I changed my mind?_" he thought. He watched her stitch the laceration closed.

"Why is my skin so white there?" the patient asked.

"Along with the numbing medicine we inject a medicine to reduce blood flow to the area. It makes your skin look less pink."

"Oh."

Cameron turned, and they stared at each other for a while. She read his dilemma in his eyes. "Maybe next time," she said, with enough finality that he left for his office.

"He's got it for you bad." the patient said.

"Ya think?"

"Totally."

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TBC.


	3. Little Black Tee

**Author's Note:** blushes Aw, your reviews made me tear up, as well as slack-off at work in a House-like fashion to bring you part three. So honored that people whose fic _I_ love are loving me too.

If someone wants to be my beta, send me a comment. These are un-beta'd and likely suffering for it.

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

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Monday morning, Wilson approached Cameron with a gift bag. "We each picked you out a souvenir tee as a sort of 'thank you'." She took the bag and started to open it. "I know it's nothing compared to the tickets…"

"Don't mention it. I'm glad you had a good time." She pulled out first Wilson's tee, size small, white with the Rolling Stones emblazoned on the front.

"That one's from me."

"It's perfect! Thank you." She pulled out the second, black t-shirt. "Youth large?"

"Umm…I asked him about that, and he said that if you're going to act as a child, you may as well dress as one."

"Christ."

"I know."

"Did he enjoy it?"

"I think he could have enjoyed it more if you were there."

She smiled. "Undoubtedly. I was far more likely to put out than you were."

"Ha ha. Seriously though, I think you've got him on the ropes."

"I hate sports metaphors."

He grinned. "It means, you're wearing him down."

"I hope so. Thanks again for the shirt."

"Thanks again for the tickets."

The next morning, House was at his desk tossing the tennis ball when Cameron came in with his coffee. She set the red mug on his desk. He looked up; his jaw dropped. Cameron was wearing the black souvenir tee and dark-wash, low-rider jeans, revealing 7 inches of washboard abs.

"Can I take the mail from you?"

"…mail…"

"Yes, it's just there: under your gameboy?"

He was momentarily paralyzed: eyes on navel. Then he seemed to recover himself. "I see you got your shirt."

"Yeah, thank you. It's perfect." She leaned across him to snag the mail, her body inches from his face. She returned to the conference room with the mail.

"Perfect," he repeated to his empty office.

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Cameron walked brusquely to the conference room table and began to read through the mail. Chase and Foreman gaped at her exposed belly, casual dress. "What's got into you?" asked Chase.

"Hmm?" asked Cameron, her eyes on the mail.

"Cameron. Your clothes," Foreman clarified.

"Oh, I gave Dr. Wilson some concert tickets I wasn't using. He took House, who brought me back this little souvenir."

"Little is right." Foreman and Chase exchanged looks. Something was up. "Cameron, what's going on?"

"Nothing."

Foreman looked at Chase meaningfully, and jerked his head towards the door. "Uh…I think I'll head down and talk to Cuddy about rearranging my clinic hours," said Chase as he rose to leave.

"And I need to talk to Simmons in Radiology. I'll share an elevator with you." They left Cameron to her mail.

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Chase followed as Foreman made for Wilson's office. "Hey, why are we going in there?"

"Because we need answers." He knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

They entered and sat across from Wilson's desk. "Hmm. If you boys are planning mutiny, you'll have to leave me out of it."

Forman chuckled. "It's nothing like that. Cameron came to work half naked today, and we thought you might have some inside information."

"Half naked?"

"She's wearing half of a black Rolling Stones shirt and hip-huggers." Chase amended.

"Oh, shit." Wilson leaned back in his chair. "What did he do?"

"House? She was in his office with the coffee, but we didn't hear anything. Why?" Forman leaned forwards with interest.

"Score one for Cameron, I guess. She's been asking him out, every week for over a month, until one of them gives up."

"She doesn't stand a chance," was Foreman's reply.

"You've never seen her when she…wants you," answered Chase. "It's pretty hard to say no."

"Yeah, I think he's wearing down. I saw her last attempt—he wanted to say yes."

"Wanted to say yes, but didn't. If he didn't roll over for Stones tickets, he's not giving in. I'd put a hundred on it."

"I'll take that money," said Wilson.

"Me too," Chase added.

"Fine with me. You guys are going down."

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Cameron decided she needed to go over strategy with someone who spent a lot of time with the target.

"After his favorite band, I don't really know how to up the ante. You know him: what do you think he'd find more appealing than that?"

Silence.

"I know, right? That was my best shot. I don't know. Maybe a scotch tasting? Do they even do that?"

Silence.

"Yeah, I doubt it." She reached into the cabinet beside the coma patient's bed and retrieved House's Doritos. She put her feet up on the bed, and reached into the nearly empty bag. "Maybe I'm going about this all wrong, you know…trying too hard? He knows as well as I do that I'm running out of ways to top myself."

Silence.

"Yeah, he didn't go for simple stuff like movies and TV either. On the other hand, if I keep going bigger, he'll know he just has to ride it out."

Silence.

"You're a good listener, Stan. I can see why he comes up here." She leaned back in the chair, and popped another Dorito into her mouth.

"Those are mine."

"I don't know…they were in _Stan's_ cabinet." She wondered how long he'd been watching.

House walked to the end of the bed and looked at the chart. "Says here his name is Steve."

"That's not what he told me." Good. Casual. He didn't hear anything important.

"What else did he tell you?"

"You chew with your mouth open."

He turned on the sleeping man. "I asked you if that bothered you!"

She laughed. "Well, I guess I'll leave you two to your spat." She tossed him the chips. "Go easy on him, Stan."

He mentally congratulated himself on an interaction with her that included neither insults nor romance. Maybe she was giving up. He took her spot at his bedside and reached for the remote. "I know she has a smoking bod, but come on Stan! Fraternizing with the enemy? If you didn't have cable, I'm not sure I could forgive you."

TBC.


	4. A Prank and a Pizza

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** I've learned my lesson, and you should too: I solemnly swear on Hugh Laurie's **devestating** blue eyes to never, NEVER read another fic without reviewing. Only three days in, and I know I'm addicted to your comments. But don't worry, I'm not going to test it by going cold turkey.

**Chapter 4: A Prank and a Pizza**

Wednesday afternoon, Cameron snuck up behind House. He was squatting outside Cuddy's office, watching her through the window. Silently, she squatted behind him. Although she made no sound or movement, he detected her presence by the tell-tale odor of her shampoo. Almonds and honey: he remembered it from their dance.

"Stay down, stay quiet," he whispered.

"What are we looking at?" she whispered back.

"I've asked Cuddy to interview a prospective new member of the diagnostics team."

She bit her lip. Could he be firing her for her overtures? "What's his specialty?"

She saw his shoulders quake with silent laughter. "Erotic dance."

At that moment, Hot Chocolate's _You Sexy Thing_ began to play from an unseen source. The "applicant" stood up and began his show. He didn't get far before Cuddy was out of her chair and headed straight for them.

"Run for it, you're innocent."

"No," she pushed him into a corner. "I'll create a diversion."

Cuddy flew out of her office and looked both ways, eyes wide with anger. "Cameron, which way did he go?"

"He told me to tell you 'diagnostics,' but I think he headed towards the clinic. He could have been faking me out…"

"Thanks," she called over her shoulder as she ran towards the clinic. It would take her a while to check all those exam rooms.

A hand snaked out to grab Cameron's wrist; House pulled her out of sight and they ended up chest to chest in the shadowed alcove. "You know, she's going to get me eventually."

Cameron gave a sly half smile. "I know I am," she replied as she tipped onto her toes to give him a soft peck on the lips. Then before he could react, she disappeared up a flight of stairs. He popped a Vicodin and headed for the elevator.

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Wilson looked up from his paper work when House dejectedly threw himself down in the chair opposite. "You look like hell."

No comeback sprang to mind. _What's she doing to me?_ Instead he just muttered, "Cameron."

"Oh, I see! She's getting to you."

"It's Wednesday, it could come at any moment…"

"She's got you on the run."

"No, she's HAD me on the run. Weeks. What the fuck am I going to do?"

"House, you're on your own."

House cocked his head to the side, wrinkled his brow. Waited for a tell.

"What?"

"You've got _money_ on this!"

"Wha--?"

"With who? How much?"

He looked down, guilty. "Foreman, one hundred."

"Who else is in on it?"

"As far as I know, just Chase."

House leaned forward to rest his head in both hands. "I don't even remember why I'm fighting anymore. Did you SEE her yesterday?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

"Why am I even talking to you? You're compromised."

"Hey, I'm looking out for your best interest. She seems to like you, and she's a nice girl. Fucking hot as hell."

"_Watch it._"

"Look at that. Imagine how you'll feel if she STOPS asking. Makes a date with some other guy. _Marries_ some guy and starts popping out kids—"

House stood up. "You're a big help Jim. Go to hell." With that he stormed out of the office.

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House spent the rest of the day in his office with the blinds drawn. The ducklings assumed this had to do with the blowout and added clinic duties that had resulted when Cuddy finally caught up with him. They gave him his space. So, when he emerged at seven, he was surprised to see Cameron was still present. Before her was a massive pile of charting, a beer, and an open cooler with the remains of the 12 pack. He walked up to the conference table.

"Not planning to drink them all in one sitting, I hope."

She grinned. "We'll see. I had hoped beer and pizza would bribe the boys into helping me finish your charting. No luck."

"There's pizza?" There was a knock on the window behind him, and a delivery man waved through the window. Cameron rose to trade him cash for food.

"Have some, it's going begging."

He made space for himself at the table, and helped himself to a beer. "Is this all part of your elaborate plan?"

"Just my plan to finish the charting." She met his gaze. "Would it have worked?"

He ignored her meaning. "Yeah, I'll help with the charting."

They worked in companionable silence. Occasionally she interrupted him for help deciphering his hand-writing. It didn't take more than an hour: he could mow through them at about three times her pace. She pushed aside the thought that it probably meant loss of fidelity in the records.

He tossed his last chart onto the pile; she had one left to go. "So, nothing you wanted to ask me then? I love when we get it out of the way early in the week."

She frowned. "Well…"

"Excellent. Lay it on me."

"I can't this week. I'm going to a wine tasting with Dr. Parker…Pedes."

"You might have told me Monday."

"He asked me today at lunch. So I'm getting to you, eh?"

"You kissed _me_ AFTER lunch!"

She smirked. "You noticed."

"I'm happy for you. You and fancy-pants Parker enjoy your trip to Pretentious-ville."

She laughed at this. "I'll try."

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TBC.


	5. Am I Screwed?

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading, and a special thanks to those who review. People who are reading my story while I'm reading theirs (you know who you are): you shouldn't be reading! Go write. Update!

**5**

Monday, Cameron walked into House's office.

"How's Parker? Let me guess, he's a Merlot man."

She didn't answer, just locked eyes with him and walked around to his side of the desk. His look read_ what are you doing?_ but he didn't try to stop her. She lifted a long, lean leg to step over his before settling onto his lap. She pulled his face towards hers with both hands, and began to passionately kiss him. Of their own accord, his hands slipped up along her thighs, caressed her ass.

"Mmmm," she purred, pulling away from his mouth. "Was that so difficult?"

Clink.

House woke up with a start when Cameron placed the coffee mug on his desk. "Looks like you could use this," she said. She gathered up his mail and slipped out into the conference room.

He collected himself. _Thursday, not Monday. Professional air of detachment, not groping the subordinates. Right. Professional. _

He flung open the conference room door. "Chase, get your British ass in here!" He returned to his desk, and picked up his magic 8 ball, turning it in his hands.

"You hollered?"

"Yes. As we have no case, and you will be on _special assignment_, I'll be covering your clinic hours today."

"Why don't I like the sound of that?"

"Am I right in assuming you plan to keep your bet with Foreman a secret from Dr. Cameron?"

Chase sputtered. "Yes. She'll kill me."

"I need you to research the hospital gossip mill for information about a Dr. Parker in pedes, particularly gossip that pertains to any…romantic associations."

"Easy. He's taking Cam out this weekend. Can I go back—"

"Former associations."

"You knew about his date with Cameron."

"Your self interest will motivate you to humor my curiosity, and your fear of Cameron will ensure your silence."

Chase muttered, "apparently."

"Great! Hop to it, kangaroo-boy." Chase left by way of his office door to avoid Cameron.

"Magic 8 Ball, am I screwed?" _Signs point to yes._ He threw a Vicodin into the air, and caught it on his tongue.

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"This seat taken?" Wilson set his grilled chicken salad down across from Cameron's identical one. She welcomed him with a tight smile. "So House came to see me the other day."

"Doesn't he see you everyday?" She picked at her lunch.

"He _came_ to see me. He only does that when he needs _help._"

"I see. And he needed help with…?"

"You. It's almost over. What is it this week?"

She smiled and looked away. "Wine tasting."

"I wouldn't have guessed he'd go for that, but at this point I trust your judgment."

"_Dr. Parker_ is taking me to a wine tasting. House has the week off."

"Strategy?"

"Serendipity. Parker hits on me all the time. He thinks I have designs towards child-bearing."

"Don't you?"

Cameron cocked her head to the side. "I don't know."

"But not with Parker."

"Let's just say I doubt it."

"Well, if you were going to play the jealousy card, I wish you would have picked me."

"Aw, Jimmy. It's not the jealousy card per se, I just want to remind him it's not about him being broken. I like him for the normal reasons anyone likes any other normal person. They don't come any more "normal" than Kenneth Parker. He has a white picket fence. Literally."

"You don't think he'll suspect it's a ploy?"

"He thinks everything everyone does is a ploy, conscious or unconscious. Anyway, you should have seen the look on his face when I told him last night."

"You should have seen the look he gave me when I said you were hot as hell."

"What look?"

"Like he wanted to shove my head up my ass for a hat."

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Chase walked into Exam Three to find House at work removing shards glass from a patient's foot.

"This looks like a case that could be better handled by the ER?" Chase queried.

"ER co-pay's a hundred, ours is fifteen. Besides, it doesn't look like an emergency to me."

"Well your sutures are serviceable, I'm sure. But not pretty."

"Sir, for eighty-five dollars, Dr. Chase will make sure the scars _on the_ _bottom of your foot _come out more…attractive."

"I'll pass."

"Wise decision." He turned to Chase, "What have you got for me?"

"He's about four month's out of a six-month relationship with Dr. Rebecca Stein in Cardiology."

"She left him."

"No—he left her."

"She cheated."

"No! Look, if you think you know everything, I'll let myself out."

House rolled his eyes. "Spill it."

"I talked to his ex. She says it was just…time, says he realized they wanted different things. He wants to get married, have kids—"

"I see. When's your date with Dr. _Becky_?"

Chase smirked. "She suggested Sunday evening."

"Sunday first date; Becky doesn't like sleepovers."

"Looks that way." Chase looked smug.

"Great. You got no-strings sex for _yourself_, and nothing useful for me. What's wrong with him?"

"Wrong with him?"

"The call of the Australian mimicking parrot. What's wrong with him: what's the attraction for Saint Cameron, patron of the afflicted."

"Face it House. He's healthy and well-adjusted."

House stood up and removed his gloves. "If you're finished with your assignment, you can do the stitches. Make them as pretty as your hair. I'm going home."

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TBC.


	6. Personal Care

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

6

House moved through the grocery store with the focused air of one who wished to escape as quickly as possible. First he hit the in-store liquor merchant for a bottle of scotch, then the personal care aisle for a new stick of antiperspirant. He paused to smell a bottle of Honey and Almond shampoo. "You're such a girl, House," he muttered disgustedly. Much as he hated himself, he had to do it each time he came to the store.

He looked down at his basket. _Deodorant, Scotch. There was something else_…_Doritos._ Between himself and Cameron, the bag in Stan's room was getting pretty low. He turned down the appropriate aisle, froze, and ducked back behind the end-cap. He peeked around the corner.

Allison Cameron was bent over to lean on her well-stocked cart. She walked away from him slowly, staring dreamily at the packages and singing along to her iPod. His choices were obvious: leave—_screw the Doritos!_—or walk past her for the chips, give a detached wave, and _then_ leave.

But the appeal of observing her in her natural habitat was too strong. Instead, he walked behind her, undetected, and listened. At the opportune moment, he snagged his chips.

"There's no time to lose, I heard her say  
Catch your dreams before they slip away  
Dying all the time  
Lose your dreams  
And you will lose your mind.  
Ain't life unkind?"

She turned down the International Foods aisle and chose whole-grain rice and whole-wheat pasta. Near the end of the aisle she angrily flicked a taped up sale notice over a bit of empty shelf. "Out of my cookies, thanks a lot!" House laughed quietly, and continued to follow her as she started up her rendition of The White Stripes' _It's True That We Love One Another_, singing only Holly's part. He mentally added Jack's.

Down the next aisle she passed the domestic cookies and let out a sarcastic, "No thanks!" and he laughed again. He could not interpret the disgusted look she gave to the snack crackers. Nothing made it into the cart on this aisle, and House noted the difference in their styles. _But you're both scary stalkers_ he rebuked himself.

When Cameron turned down the personal care aisle, House considered giving her her privacy. Before he could decide, he saw her open, smell, and return a stick of antiperspirant identical to the one in his basket. _Yep, both scary_. He chuckled to himself and felt a smidgen less guilty.

Cameron turned down the aisle for cleaning products, paused, and spun around. She gasped in surprise when she saw House, then flushed when she recalled the previous aisle. She gracefully pulled the earbuds down. "Stalking me?"

"NO—I'm here for cleanser." He pulled a bottle off the shelf and tossed it in his basket. "Where's Kenny?"

She cocked her head to the side. "That was yesterday."

"Sent the poor bastard home alone?"

"Not that it's your business, but I rarely put out of the first date."

"Not even for _wine tasting_?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "Particularly for wine tasting."

"I checked Parker out—he's not flawed in any way I can determine. What's the attraction?"

"Well, you _are_ uncommonly nosy, but I can't get your eyes out of my mind. To say nothing of your ass—"

"Ah, it all falls together. You _don't_ like Parker because _he's _ not broken!"

"I don't like _Parker_ because he's not YOU. He's boring."

House looked at the floor and thought about what she'd said. Ever since the first time he asked her why she liked him, he had wanted to believe it was simply this—that she liked him for himself. The image of her smelling the deodorant flashed through his mind. The image of her kissing him outside Cuddy's office.

"Is that your dinner?" She asked, indicating the basket.

"Not entirely, I plan to supplement it with Mentos once I reach the checkout."

She smiled, nodded. She reached for something normal to say. "I'm making pasta carbonara."

"You could—" he looked an his shoes. "Do you want to come make it at my place?"

She locked eyes with him. "Like a date?"

"Yes."

**FIN.**

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**Author's Note**: Thanks for reading and please review, even if only to say you read it. If there's any kind of clamoring, a sequel might materialize.


	7. By Popular Demand

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** Okay, but we're going to have to change the rating! Live-and-die's review has made me really re-think my position that this story has to end when House gives in. To the people like him/her (why am I guessing its a him?) who thought it all came to a close too fast: Okay. Point taken. Maybe so. You win. You realize though, that if I miss much more work I might lose my job, right? Houseketeers need sleep too. The story that wouldn't die: take it as proof that your reviews work. A little too well.

Therapist: When did you realize your relationship with the reviews was out of control?

Houseketeer: When I started thinking about reviews in the shower.

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7(!)

The phone was ringing when House and Cameron entered the apartment. "Make yourself at home in the kitchen—I'll get the phone." He deposited the bags he carried unceremoniously and picked up the handset. "This better be good."

"Where have you been? Your cell is going straight to voicemail." Wilson's sharp reply belied his concern for House.

"Shopping. Just got in."

"Hmm, scotch for dinner again? I could come over, chineese food, etcetera."

"That's ok, I…picked something up at the market. Your bet with Foreman still just one hundred?"

"It is…"

"What does he make of the Parker development?"

Wilson didn't want to feed House a new neurosis, but in the end he reasoned that he probably already had this one. He sighed. "Foreman said Parker doesn't have a chance. He also says that you will of course realize this and question either her motives for wanting you, or for dating Parker."

"Here's what you do. Tell Foreman that I had Chase talk to Parker's ex, and that I have learned that there's nothing wrong with Parker and therefore it's all strategy to fix me on Cameron's part."

"So, I'm losing a hundred dollars and you want me to call and tell him so?" Wilson was exasperated.

"At which time, you will increase your wager as much as possible and split the excess winnings with me."

"She's there, isn't she?"

"Gotta go, Jimmy!" House hit the end call button and tossed the phone over his shoulder.

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TBC. Again.


	8. Dinner

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** It was a rough day for me: not ONE of my authors updated! But I couldn't do that to you guys. Do I get a thank you?

**8**

House ambled into the kitchen, where Cameron was already cooking up a storm. He retrieved two wine glasses from the cabinet and a bottle of white wine from the fridge.

"Who was that?"

"A local pimp. When I break pattern, he frets. Wine?"

"Please." She warmed some butter in a saucepan. "So I'm disturbing your Sunday routine?"

"Amber will be devastated. Tonight was her turn."

"And how long has _she_ been waiting for a turn?"

House smirked. "I'm not sure, but she was certainly more patient someone I know."

With his right hand, he reached for a piece of the crisp bacon she was staking on paper towels, but she slapped his wrist. "That's for the pasta!" He wrapped his left arm around her waist and succeeded in snagging a piece.

"One piece won't matter," he whispered, face grazing her hair. He stepped back to watch her mince the garlic.

She took a deep breath to recover from his proximity. "I couldn't find the pepper?"

He opened one of the upper cabinets. "You mean we have this many bags, and there's still something you don't have?" He pulled out a red and green striped gift bag and placed it on the counter for her.

"What's this?" She fished around in the tissue paper to reveal a salt shaker and pepper mill.

"Wilson's wife gave me that for Christmas."

"I can understand not cooking, but you don't use salt and pepper?"

"Take-out comes with packets."

"Right." She dumped the pasta into the strainer.

"I'll set the table while you finish up."

"I can't wait to see the gift bag the plates come out of," she called after him.

House carried in their wine and set out the plates and silverware. His hands hovered over the candlesticks, indecisive. They hadn't done so well by candlelight last time. He left them in the drawer. Instead, he decided to set the mood with some music. He chose some gentle jazz piano. Suddenly the smell of Cameron's pasta sauce hit him, and his mouth began to water. He turned to find her coming in with the pot.

When House got his first bite, he moaned with pleasure and looked at Cameron appreciatively. She smiled. "Better than scotch and mentos?"

"Competitive, certainly. Do you always cook so--elaborately?"

"Rarely. I was treating myself after my _disaster_ outing with Parker."

"That bad, eh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Pretentious-ville was only the first stop on our tour. I also saw Self-important Land and the Pompous Pavilon…the guy would NOT shut up about himself."

House's ego couldn't get enough of her review of her date. "And the wine?"

"Jesus. Okay, there is good wine and bad wine, and I'm sure there are many subtle levels. But please. 'I detect a fruity note?' Don't we all."

House lost control and laughed so hard in the middle of a sip that wine shot out his nose.

"Are you okay?"

House coughed into his napkin, trying to stifle his laughing so he could breathe. His face was red. "I'm fine…please, continue."

"The worst part is he was so vapid, you know? I asked him why he chose to specialize in pediatrics—"

House cut her off. "Lemme guess. He loves kids."

"And that's all he has to say about it! Just—vapid."

"Mmm-hmm," House said through a mouth full of pasta.

"So we met some of his pretentious wine buddies there, and one of them had just got a new car."

House nodded his encouragement that she continue.

"And Parker is all, 'I _can't_ understand why you didn't get a _Mercedes Benz_,' and I laugh right, because—"

"Ron White," House interrupted.

"Exactly. I thought he was quoting stand-up. But they all just stared at me!"

House had been worried that they would find nothing to discuss. Happily, conversation naturally flowed from favorite stand-up comics, to Wilson's comical collection of neckties, to Wilson's comical collection of _ex-wives_, and from there to other hospital gossip.

"Actually, Chase has a date tonight with Parker's ex, Dr. Becky."

"Judging by the way Parker bad-mouthed her she's probably wonderful."

House laughed. "Certainly better than he deserves."

"How did they meet, I wonder. She's a cardiologist."

House looked at his now long-empty plate. "He..may have thought I would be curious about Parker's romantic history."

Cameron laughed and shook her head. "Oh yes, I remember you said he wasn't flawed. Little did you know."

By this time, both had finished eating, and House began to realize he had NO IDEA what to do when the meal ended. Cameron stood up and said, "I'm just going to use the washroom."

"First on the left." He took the opportunity her absence afforded to take the dishes to the kitchen. He opened the dishwasher and pilled the entire mess inside carelessly: empty packages and all. His cleaning service would take care of it. When she returned, he was giving the counter-tops a cursory wipe down.

She held up a bottle. "You use Honey and Almond?" she asked accusingly.

"I don't _use _it, I possess it. And don't start with me: I saw you in the personal care aisle." She shook her head and returned the bottle to the bathroom.

Upon returning she approached him. She put her palms on his chest, and looked into his eyes. "You like me," she said smugly.

He rolled his eyes in mock chagrin. "Rumbled."

He leaned down to kiss her, and she responded with much more enthusiasm and skill than he had imagined possible. Her hands slid down to his waistband and under the hem of his shirt.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily. "Dr. Cameron!" he exclaimed, the shock in his voice only half mocking.

She arched a sly eyebrow. "Dr. House," she answered.

"To be honest, I'm not quite sure what to do with you at this point."

"Which one is the bedroom?"

"You said you don't put out on the first date!"

She turned and went off to find it without his help. She threw over her shoulder, "I said _rarely_, and this is our third date." House idly wondered which of their non-date experiences she was counting.

He popped a Vicodin, smiled, and shook his head. He had no choice but to follow her.

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TBC.


	9. Multiple

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** This story is now rated M. If that doesn't appeal to you, you can just skip ahead to chapter 10. Thank you for reading and reviewing! Seeing your comments is -honestly- the best part of my day and has become my only reason to update.

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**9**

House entered the dim bedroom to the sight of Cameron removing her simple black boat-neck shirt. This left her in low rider jeans and a strapless black bra, and he was instantly hard at the sight of her. He put his hands at her waist, and traced lazy circles with his thumbs that occasionally slipped under her waistband. He kissed her, his tongue licking along her lower lip and into her mouth. She moaned against it, and began to unbutton his shirt. He struggled out of it; broke the kiss to remove his t-shirt over his head and toss it to the floor.

Again he had her in his arms. He kissed her collarbone as his long fingers undid the fly of her jeans. He slipped a hand down the front and caressed her through the fabric of her silk panties. She sighed heavily. He slipped the jeans over her hips, hands pushing them down her smooth white thighs. She impatiently kicked them off while reaching to unbutton his pants; pushed his boxers and jeans down while kissing him. By this time she had backed him up against the bed. She gave him a playful push and he collapsed back onto the mattress. She pulled his clothes the rest of the way off.

He leaned up on one elbow to watch her as she reached back and unclasped her bra, tossed it aside. He groaned. She was flawless. She slipped out of her panties and kneeled between his knees, giving him a wicked, sex-drenched look. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling as she placed her hands on his knees, and slowly ran them upwards. Her fingers swept up both thighs, taking casual notice of their asymmetry. He hardly had time to register his discomfort at being naked before her: her tongue darted out and emptied his head of all conscious thought.

He wanted her to stop—to not waste it on this—but he couldn't speak. She was too good at it. He felt his orgasm building. At the crucial moment, she applied careful pressure. He shuddered and groaned as his climax coursed through him; he did not ejaculate and if anything was harder than ever. He leaned up on an elbow and looked at her with awe.

She looked smug. "Never had a multiple before? We'll fix that." She climbed over him, and shocked him again by impaling herself with no preamble. He groaned involuntarily.

He caressed her as she rode him; licked his fingers and used them where they would do the most good. When her first orgasm hit her, she leaned forward to kiss him; tightly closed her eyes. She had always come hardest this way: pitch black, something in her mouth.

He grasped her by her waist and rolled her over onto her back. He took in the way her dark, silken hair spilled around her face, the way she breathed through parted, glistening lips. He couldn't take much more.

He looked down at how their bodies met, and it caused him to fuck her that much harder. She began to issue pained little moans. "Ungh. House." He paused, concerned. She drew her legs up around him, gripped his shoulders. "Don't stop." Hearing her ask for it drove him wild. She bit her lip. The contractions of her multiple orgasm catalyzed his own.

He rolled off her, and they clung to each other, breathing labored. She was draped along his left side, her head on his chest. They lay a moment, recovering. He wondered if it was the best he'd ever had, or if it had just been so long he couldn't remember how great it was. He suspected the former.

He heard her mouth open with an almost imperceptible gasp. "What is it?" he asked.

She began to move away as she answered, "it just occurred to be how clingy I'm being." He didn't answer, just moved to gently but firmly hold her in place. She snuggled back into position and sighed contentedly. He pulled a blanket over them and they slipped into an exhausted sleep.

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House woke up moments before his alarm. His arm slid to the other side of the bed, and found it empty, but still warm. He was pleasantly surprised to feel no guilt or regret regarding the previous evening: only disappointment that she had gone. Once his morning Vicodin had worked its magic, he stumbled to the bathroom and found a post-it on the mirror.

H—

Sorry to leave. Didn't know how you want to handle

things at work, so thought business as usual—must

get in early and do coffee, etc. or boss may suspect

got lucky. He can always tell.

—C

He pictured her agonizing over what to write, and admired the witty, casual, and confident balance she struck. Still he knew her well, and read into the note all she did _not_ say. There was no hint of romance, lest she scare him off. He mentally rebuked himself: it was his fault she was afraid to just be herself around him. If he had not made her so self-critical, he thought he would have read something different. He lamented the loss.

He showered and dressed, made a phone call, and left on his cycle. On the way to the hospital he made and out-of-character stop at a diner for breakfast. He wanted his surprise to arrive before he did.

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TBC.


	10. Trite As Wine Tasting

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** I assign everyone to go read Homeostasis by NaiveEve. Don't even read chapter 10 yet, this is more important. At least, I know finishing it was more important than writing chapter 10.

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**10**

Cameron arrived at her usual time and performed her usual routine. However, none of it _felt_ customary, each task was transformed in the light of her burgeoning new relationship with House. She performed each task consciously, ceremoniously. She remembered how she felt cooking in his home, the feel of his breath in her hair when he stole the bacon. She felt held by him, although he hadn't yet arrived.

The other ducklings trickled in, obeyed their respective routines as well. Chase worked his crossword; Foreman read a medical journal. She marveled at how it was like any other day, and yet so so different.

There was a knock at the glass, and Chase opened the door to admit a uniformed man. "Delivery for Allison Cameron?"

"That's me," she answered. She signed his proferred form; he didn't seem to have anything with him.

"Where would you like it?" She indicated the conference table, and he exited to the hallway. He returned and placed in the center of the table a massive, magnificent arrangement of white orchids. She thanked him as he left, and reached for the card. It read simply, "Thanks for the pasta. —Parker"

She smiled. She appreciated his clever way keeping things confidential as much as the sweetness and romance of the gesture. From anyone else flowers would seem cliché, but coming from House they were an eloquent and disarming message.

Chase took the note from her hands as Foreman asked, "Flowers from Parker?"

Cameron was happy when Chase answered for her by reading the note aloud; she wouldn't have to lie.

At that moment House breezed into the conference room. "Flowers. That's almost as trite as wine tasting. Hang on to this one, Cameron. He's a keeper." He walked over to help himself to the coffee she had prepared.

She beamed. _'I intend to,'_ she thought.

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Foreman and Chase piled into Wilson's office. He had nudged his bet with Foreman up to three-hundred the night before by phone, and he didn't know what to make of their appearance in his office. Had House told them?

"Parker's sent Cam orchids," Chase spilled.

"Did he?" Wilson watched Foreman with apprehension. He felt no remorse for taking advantage of him, just concern that he do a perfect job of it. It was Foreman's MO to only bet on a sure thing; this time the tables were turned.

"She looked ecstatic," Chase continued. "The question is, what had her so happy, Parker's flowers or House's reaction?"

They both looked at Foreman. He too was scheming, not wanting to scare them off a raise. "I've never seen her that happy, no matter how House reacted. I say she had a surprisingly good time with Parker and she's through with House. She looks like she got some."

Wilson choked on his coffee.

Chase answered, "Well I say she's just thrilled to get flowers so House will be jealous, and it worked. He's going to give in any tick."

"I'd be willing to double my bet with each of you," Foreman continued.

Chase and Wilson exchanged looks. "Done." Wilson nodded his agreement as well.

"So, it's once a week. If she doesn't ask him this week, I say I've won." Wilson and Chase agreed.

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House wordlessly flopped down into a chair at Wilson and Cuddy's table in the cafeteria. They were deep in conversation regarding the latest board meeting, and House did not interrupt. He removed the pickle slices from his sandwich and arranged them on the plate; dabbed each with mustard. Whenever he judged Cuddy's attention was otherwise engaged, he flung one at the wall. It became clear she _had_ noticed but hadn't responded, so he increased the frequency of his offensive.

"Do you mind, that's very distracting," she reprimanded him.

"I was about to say the same about your _love melons_," he returned. "Wilson, how's the _Dow Jones _faring today?"

Wilson's brow furrowed. House was anything but concerned about the stock market. Then he cottoned on. "It's up _five_ points." House whistled appreciatively. "There was some pretty heavy _trading_ this morning."

"Any negative indicators?"

"If there's no change by _Friday_, the stock price will tank."

"I see."

"It's not lost on me that you're talking in code," Cuddy snapped.

"Ah, but that doesn't matter as long as you can't decipher it." House tossed his last pickle and took a huge bite of his Ruben.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "So mature." She picked up her chat with Wilson.

House considered Wilson's revelation. His share would be two-hundred fifty dollars—he wanted to spend it on her. As soon as the idea came to him, he interrupted Wilson mid-sentence.

"Cuddy, the houseketeers and I will all be out of the hospital Friday for a team-building retreat."

"YOU are taking THEM on a team-building retreat."

"You know: sit on the ground in a circle, talk about our feelings, sing kumbaya. Then if time allows, enjoy a hearty group hug and a moment of reflection on how the experience has changed us."

"If you just need a personal day—"

"If I just needed a personal day, I'd take one and leave the ducklings here to do your evil bidding."

"Okay," she shook her head. "Maybe it's a good idea."

"Okay," he said. He picked up his sandwich and carried it to his office. Now that he had the idea, he couldn't wait to plan the details.

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After Chase and Foreman left for the night, Cameron wasn't sure what to do. They had made no plans for the evening, hadn't even spoken privately since **it** happened. She slipped into his office. When he noticed her approach he nervously minimized his web browser. She noticed the subterfuge, but didn't see anything.

"You don't have to hide your porn from _me_," she teased.

"Well, that changes my plans for our entire evening."

"You have plans for our evening?"

"I do now that porn is on the table."

He stood and reached for her hips and pulled her over to lean against his desk in front of him. He took her face in his hands and gave a tender kiss. Then he kissed her forehead, which made her go all melty.

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest. "Thank you so much for the flowers," she whispered. He leaned down to kiss the part in her hair as he done during their first dance. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and inhaled deeply, just enjoying the sensation of holding her.

"Where should we go?" he asked.

She mumbled into his chest, "I don't want to go anywhere."

He shook his head. "Sorry, not ready to christen the office yet. Your place, however…"

Her mind skimmed over the myriad subtle ways his apartment was perfectly designed for his comfort, from the closely positioned furniture that allowed him to go cane-less, to the safety rail in his shower, to the lack of stairs. She was intensely flattered that he would give it all up to make her more comfortable.

"What about your home-field advantage?" she asked.

"Been studying your sports metaphors I see. Well, of course, you have everything I'd need, I imagine…"

"Such as?"

"Scotch."

"No."

"General Hospital Tivo'd."

"I don't have Tivo."

"That explains a lot about you."

She grinned. "I'd rather go back to your place. I didn't get to snoop at all."

"You wasted your morning."

"A mistake I don't intend to repeat."

He shrugged. "Fine with me. But we're taking the bike: I don't want you escaping like last time."


	11. Torture

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** Knowing the mechanism of addiction won't help you once you feel that first high; you'll always be chasing, racing for more. Now I've had some of the best reviews on the street, the hard stuff. Life is sure to spiral out of control.

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**11**

As they entered House's apartment he asked, "Okay, romantic evening in. It's ah…been a while. What do you want to do?"

"Order take-out and watch TV."

He shook his head, "Oh, you are SO the girl for me. Do you want to choose the food or the TV?"

"Um, food." She tossed herself onto his leather sofa.

He retrieved his pile of menus and dropped them into her lap along with the cordless phone and his wallet. "Anything you want, I'm just going to use the bathroom quick. Right back."

She could hardly focus on the task at hand; she was so shocked at the intimacy of holding his wallet, ordering his food. _Get it together, Cam_. She flipped through, and was charmed to see they were almost all annotated. The top menu, China Garden, boasted a strong red circle around #17, Pork Fried Rice, among other marks. The second from Taste of Thailand had a bold X through Yellow Curry Chicken. She decided on something with neither a positive or negative comment: Tandoori Chicken and naan for two from Mahrani.

House settled into the couch beside her and reached for the remote. "What did you pick?"

"Yellow Curry Chicken."

"Oh, I'll play your game."

"Indian food."

"Perfect choice. Now for the second half of your request: General Hospital."

"I am a General Hospital virgin."

He shivered. "Yummy. Okay, Sam slipped out to meet Jason. Shortly after he declared his love to her, she realized that Liz might be carrying his baby, and she went to investigate. Maxie prepared to tell Liz that she was also pregnant, but Liz was so furious about Lucky leaving rehab that she refused to listen. Upon later learning her rival is knocked-up, Liz returned home to Audrey's to discover Lucky, who refused to sign the divorce papers. Liz accused Maxie of trying to trap him."

"Trap who?"

"Lucky."

She squinted and cocked her head to the side. "I'm a bit confused."

"Hush, shh. Just watch." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, propped his feet on the coffee table."

The food arrived; they ate and watched. "I don't get it, she said they were married."

"Yeah."

"And she said they were _getting_ married."

"Again."

"Ooooh," she said with feigned comprehension. "This show is the most complete crap."

He kept his eyes glued to the screen, but threw a piece of naan bread at her.

"Hey!"

"Shh." They watched in silence until the closing credits rolled and he turned off the TV. "We should talk."

She was a bit nervous at this development. Honest talks with House usually got her in trouble. "What about?"

"Chiefly, what your punishment will be for calling General Hospital crap."

"_Complete_ crap," she corrected.

"That kind of language isn't going to win you points with the jury. No, I was going to say we need to talk about work, what you want to happen."

"I thought—when I saw the card was signed Parker…" she trailed off. Her disappointment that she would have to keep their relationship a secret was evident.

"Well, I wasn't going to send you a big bouquet of destroyed reputation without discussing it first. Hey," he tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "If one of us has a reason to be ashamed about this, it's you. I'm certainly not shy about it."

The corner of her mouth curled up into a half smile. She shook her head gently, "I'm not shy about it."

"That's good news, because we need to get some nude photos done: I want a t-shirt that says, 'I'm hitting that' and then your image."

"I'll hit _you_!" She punched his shoulder playfully.

He grabbed her wrists and restrained her gently. "Oh—now it's time for your sentencing."

"Already found me guilty?"

"Dr. Cameron, you willfully impugned General Hospital, TWICE. Do you want to make a statement of contrition before the jury decides your fate?"

She raised her chin in mock pride. "I stand by my comments."

He shook his head. "Well, I _was_ prepared to be lenient, given it was your first offense. But you've shown yourself to be utterly without remorse."

"Utterly." she agreed. "What's it to be?"

"Torture." He reached for her waist and started to undo the fly of her pants. She lay back, her head on the arm of the sofa. He hooked his thumbs into her panties, and she arched her back to allow him to slide them and her pants off. He kissed a trail from her left knee, along her inner thigh. He exhaled a deep sigh. She felt it and trembled, contracted. "Take it back."

"Never," she said defiantly.

He raised an eyebrow as if to say, '_you asked for it._' With the flat of his tongue, he licked her; massaged her. She squirmed. She bent her knees, clenched her toes.

"Ngh," she gasped. She closed her eyes tightly and her body went taut. "I'm gonna—"

He pulled away just in time, and she glared at him. "Take it back."

"No," she moaned, and it came out sounding like a plea as he inserted two fingers, curled them forward. He kept his eyes locked with hers as he leaned down to suck her clit. She arched her back and tensed every muscle. She covered her eyes with her hand and pressed hard. "Just let me…Why?!" she exclaimed when he stopped again, keeping his fingers deep inside her.

"You know why." He teased her again, felt her clench down hard on his fingers. She thrashed her head from side to side and willed herself to come, but he kept her just tantalizingly close.

Finally she let out, "General Hospital…_ngh ah_…not crap."

He stooped just long enough to answer, "Not good enough."

"I…oh. Mmm. General Hospital is _ah_ perfect." He sucked hard at her clit and she quaked under the force of her climax. He slid up lie beside her, held her. "You are SO going to pay."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes."

"You couldn't even walk right now, much less make me pay." He stroked her thigh, ran his hand up under her blouse. 

"Is that right?" she asked.

"Mm-hm."

Cameron stood up abruptly and tossed him his cane. "Let's go!" she called over her shoulder as she stormed toward the bedroom.

He followed her in. "What's it to be," he repeated her words.

"Take everything off and lie down."

He complied obediently. She removed her blouse and bra, kneeled between his knees. She looked into his searing blue eyes. "Do you want me to touch you?"

"Yes," he answered simply.

"For every touch, you're going to tell me something about you I don't know."

He winced, nodded.

She leaned forward and let her hand hover over his abdomen, raised an eyebrow.

"I was born in upstate New York." She kissed his abdomen and up his chest. When she reached his collarbone she paused. "My BA is in music." She rewarded him with a torrid kiss that left him panting, racking his brain. "I was on the lacrosse team."

She reached down and grasped his shaft. "High school or college?"

"Yes," he moaned as she stroked him. She took this to mean both. 

"What else?" she prompted him. When he didn't answer, she dropped him like a hot potato. His eyes pleaded. "Not so nice, is it?"

"I play guitar." She again grasped him, and rubbed his head against her silken wetness.

"Acoustic or electric?"

"Gah. Both."

She increased the pace, and he bit his lip. She slowed down. "More?"

"More!" he demanded.

"No, _you_ more."

"I speak mandarin."

She cupped his balls. "Something important."

He gasped. "I lied when I said I didn't like you."

"Already knew that." She inserted just the head, and went back to massaging herself with him. He moved his hands to her waist to take control. "No!" He dropped them back to the bed like lead weights.

"I want you," he said through gritted teeth.

"Already knew _that._ Come on."

"I…**please**."

"No."

"I…think about you when I take a pill." She pushed herself down on him, clenched her muscles around him. She reached down and entwined her fingers in his hands, moved above him. They were both very close. She leaned forward, pushing his hands against the mattress over his shoulders. Stifled their combined moans with a kiss. Within minutes they were asleep in each other's arms.

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**Disclaimer:** I don't follow General Hospital. House's words about the show are lifted almost verbatim from the internet; they may contain errors. Cameron's words are probably accurate.


	12. Reflextions

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay in updating. I have just finished smashing my life to bits with a hammer and sweeping it into a small box, to be assembled later into something more attractive and useful. I highly recommend it.

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**12**

House woke up with an involuntary groan of pain, and this in turn woke Cameron. He fumbled for his pills and popped two, chewed them. She looked at him. She realized there was absolutely nothing she could do to make it better, while _any_ little thing could make it worse. House braced himself for her cloying concern, but none came. She just nodded and rolled onto her back, bent her knees. She stared at the ceiling and counted 600 seconds.

She reached over and slipped her hand into his larger one. He laced his fingers through hers. This reminded him of the previous night: her hands pinning his to the mattress. He smiled. The word _mine_ floated through his brain like a silk scarf rippling under water.

"I propose I take a shower while you make coffee, then we go to your place and do it again backwards."

Cameron stretched as she yawned. "Mmm, backwards," she agreed. She rose and stalked off to the kitchen, completely nude. His attention followed her out of sight.

_Shower, Greg. Focus._ He shook himself and went about his toilette. Forty minutes later they were entering Cameron's apartment.

"Coffee's in the cabinet, make yourself at home," she suggested.

House prowled into the living room instead, preferring to work on his favorite puzzle. Cameron's living room was furnished in a simple, inviting style Above her sofa hung a large scale abstract painting that was simply a study in shades of blue. On her coffee table was an arrangement of calla lilies swirling up against the sides of a spherical vase, beside this a book of photos of fish and other aquatic life. Her bookshelf contained one shelf of framed photos. Some were presumably her family, one was obviously taken on her wedding day. There was a close up of Cam grinning in a snorkel and mask. He recognized one as a shot of Cam, Chase and Foreman all knocking back a simultaneous shot of something. He was surprised to see a candid shot of himself at one of Cuddy's incessant fund-raisers. He realized he had no photo of her and must remedy this.

The lowest and highest shelves contained her medical reference books; he ignored these. The other books were far more telling. He saw _Get Anyone to Do Anything: Never Feel Powerless Again_ right next to _Who's Pulling Your Strings? How to Break the Cycle of Manipulation and Regain Control of Your Life_. He shook his head, _I knew it._ He took the second off the shelf to read the back.

Recognize the signs of a manipulative relationship

Spot manipulators and their typical modus operandi

Assess their own vulnerability to manipulation

Identify the 7 main "Head Games" manipulators play

And much more.

He smirked and replaced the volume. Cameron's fiction tastes were eclectic: _The House of Mirth_ and _Pride and Prejudice_ commingled with _Shopaholic Takes Manhattan_ and _Andromeda Strain_. These revelations were, as usual, more puzzling than enlightening.

He was intrigued by a book with no title on its spine; closer inspection showed it to be a journal. He slammed it closed. Was he mentioned inside? _Undoubtedly_, he thought. Naturally the desire to read it cover to cover was fierce, but he forced himself to return it to its place on the shelf. At this moment he heard the shower turn off, and he went to find Cameron's bedroom. He had just finished removing and folding his clothes when she came in wearing only a towel, drying her hair with a second one.

"Have I caught you about to try on my clothes?" she teased.

"It occurred to me that if I came in here, I'd find you in a convenient state of dress."

She tossed her towels to the floor. "Convenient to what purpose?" she asked, batting her eyes in faux naiveté.

House reached out and took her by the wrist, pulled her to stand before him at her vanity table. It was bit higher than a desk with a large mirror against the wall. They regarded their reflection. House ran his hands up from her hips to fondle her breasts. With one hand he moved her hair off her neck; he watched her eyes as he bent to kiss her there. He saw her lick her right fingers, then touch herself. He moaned against her shoulder at the sight.

In response to the gentle pressure of his palm on her lower back, Cameron bent down to support herself by leaning her forearms on the vanity. In the mirror she watched his fingers splayed on her hips, his expression of ecstasy when he entered her and paused. He pulled out exquisitely, excruciatingly slowly as Cameron used her muscles as a vice. Then he entered hard: slow, powerful strokes. He watched her watch his hands on her breasts, watch one hand slide down her belly to touch her clit. She spasmed at this; he watched her slam her eyes shut, her face contort in an expression that resembled, but was not, pain. He felt the contractions of her gratification.

He began to take her harder, faster. He loved the look of her: body braced against the table, moving in time with his. The way her breasts and wet hair shook with the impact. The way her mouth seemed locked open in a perpetual moan. As he lost control he pressed his chest hard against her back, pinning her to the table until they both recovered enough to stand and dress.

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They pulled into the parking lot at PPTH and dismounted. When House turned back to secure the helmet, he saw Dr. Foreman approaching. "Cameron," he said, and she turned to face him. As he dipped her, putting all of their combined weight on his left leg, she emitted a startled screamlet that was sure to capture Foreman's attention. He silenced her with a long passionate kiss. He righted them, and noticed Foreman's shocked stare with satisfaction.

TBC.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note: **Special thanks to **Mishy-mo** for adding insightful sparkle to this chapter. Please send more reviews: it's like heroin.

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**13**

Foreman followed House and Cameron into the elevator. Once the doors had closed, he hit the emergency stop and turned on Dr. House. "You are going to admit to both of us, _right now_ that that kiss was staged. I KNOW you know what you know, and I'll bet she doesn't."

"First of all, I have no idea what it is you know I know I know. And second, give the woman some credit. A fake kiss might fool her, but fake morning sex," he said with a lecherous grin.

Foreman shook his head as if to say 'nice try.' "I don't believe you."

"Well, if you want a demonstration it's three hundred. Five hundred if you want to participate."

Cameron slapped House's arm. "Behave!"

He turned to her. "Oh, so much for 'not shy.' Wait, comprehension dawns. You'll have an elevator menage, but only with a woman. I've seen Debbie in accounting staring at your tits; I think we can seduce her." This earned him another playful slap.

"You're both very bad actors," Forman said evenly, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

House used his cane to start the elevator moving again as he said, "Lucky for us, we don't care if you're convinced."

Foreman let this statement sink in. If this was a sham, he suspected House would have tried hard to convince him. Instead he tenderly brushed his lips across Cam's cheek and left them alone together. Foreman raised an eyebrow. "You and him?"

Cameron looked smug. "Since Sunday night."

Foreman hung his head in defeat. "The flowers…"

"I know, he's so…"

Foreman cut her off with a shake of his head to avoid hearing her wax poetic on House's charms. "Beaten at your own game," he muttered as he stormed off to deliver the news (and cash) to Wilson and Chase.

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Wilson came up behind House in line at the cafeteria. "Didn't get any of my phone messages last night? I must have left a dozen."

"I had the ringer off. You know, entertaining." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, which illicited a sigh from Wilson. He then turned his attention to the server. "I would like a Ruben sandwich, no pickles. To help you with this _insurmountable_ task, I will inform you that a _pickle_ is a green, disk-shaped slice of preserved cucumber. If you see anything at all on my lunch that _is_ green in color, you'll know it's time to start over and try again."

"Ass." Wilson muttered behind him.

"Spoken to Foreman today?" House held out his hand.

"Yeah." Wilson deposited 5 fifty dollar bills there. "He said he saw you guys come in together--gave him quite an eyeful."

"Mm-hm," he answered distractedly, peeking under the rye bread. He displayed its pickle free status. "And they told me being an asshole wouldn't get me anything."

"What are you going to do with the two-fifty?"

"Hooker," he answered. "It's on him," he informed the cashier, jerking his thumb at Wilson.

"A hooker? But what about Cameron?" Wilson asked, following House through the maze of tables.

House looked at Wilson and tried to contain his laugher.

"You shit. Fine," he sighed. "What _are_ you going to do with it?"

"It's for the retreat."

They sat down at a table. "That's another thing. What the hell are you doing taking them on a team-building retreat?"

"Aww, does ickle Wilson feel left out?" House took a huge bite of his sandwich, and moaned in pleasure. "You can actually taste the difference when no pickles have ever touched it," he said through a mouthful.

"If it tastes different, he probably pissed on it."

House just rolled his eyes and took another bite. "If so, they should bottle that stuff." House looked over Wilson's shoulder with interest, and Wilson turned in time to see Parker walking dejectedly away from a glowing Dr. Cameron. House laughed maniacally. "Denied!"

"No details?"

"We paint each other's toenails and dish about which boys we like. Use your imagination!"

"You seem happier, anyway." Wilson said with a soft smile as he picked at his salad.

"Cameron keeps a journal," House said, his voice suddenly serious.

"Oh ho! Does it say anything about me?"

"I didn't read it."

"Yet," Wilson answered knowingly.

House simply nodded his agreement. He didn't know how long he could withstand the desire to learn how she saw him. "What would you do?"

"If I didn't read it you mean? I guess tell her immediately so she can find a better hiding place. Like Fort Knox."

"Ha ha."

"Don't fuck this up House. She's the last devastating bombshell who's ever going to beg you for it."

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In the evening, Cuddy stormed into House's office waving a piece of paper.

"I just received an _invoice_ for a _suite_ at a _hotel_ in _Florida_?!"

"Team-building. You said yourself it was a good idea."

"Florida?"

"I feel compelled to hug Mickey Mouse." Cuddy did not look at all amused. "Hey, we've got the airfare covered."

"Two nights?"

"Have you _seen_ the team? We have a lot of building to do."

"I want to know what you're going to do to them down there."

House's mind reeled. What _wasn't_ he going to do to Cameron down there. "Um, I don't think they'd be comfortable if I told you about it."

"Since when do you care about making anyone comfortable?"

House gave her a look that said _your guess is as good as mine_.

"If one of them complains to me, I'm doubling your clinic hours for a month."

"Done."

She looked surprised to have won so easily. "Okay. Have a productive trip, I guess." She left his office. House noted her direction: Wilson's office. He mentally congratulated himself that Wilson was in the dark; he certainly couldn't hide anything from Cuddy.

Seeing her go, Cameron entered. "What was that about?"

"Cuddy's jealous of our special bond."

"She doesn't even know," Cameron said as she sat on the corner of his desk.

"She senses."

"Oh, really?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"According to Wilson, I'm happier."

"He's probably just remembering how _he_ felt after _our_ first couple nights together." Although he immediately recognized she was teasing, he tasted adrenaline on his tongue and felt his face flush. "Ooh," she exclaimed in triumph. "I got you didn't I?"

He nodded grudgingly. He placed his hand on her knee possesively. _Mine._

"You want to come back to my place?" she asked, looking down at his fingers.

He thought of the temptation that waited for him on her bookcase. "We better not."

She tried to conceal her disappointment. "Oh, ok." _He just needs some space,_ she reassured herself. _One night apart won't kill you._

"You don't just not have Tivo. Are you aware you don't have cable of any kind? It's like amish country over there."

She smiled. "Okay. Let'get out of here."

TBC.


	14. A Misunderstanding

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

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**14**

Thursday evening, House came into the conference room and walked to Cameron's desk while Chase and Foreman looked on with interest.

"We have to sleep at your place tonight," he informed her. He leaned against her desk.

Cameron looked up from her paperwork. "Okay—"

He fidgeted with his cane, tossing it from hand to hand. "We should go out to eat, do you want to go out to eat?"

She furrowed her brow. "Is anything—"

"We never go out. Do you want to go out?"

"We can go out; I'd…love to go out."

"Okay." He picked up her coat and held it out for her.

"Like, now?"

He nodded impatiently and shook the jacket.

"Okay," she said as she slipped her arms into her sleeves.

When they reached the garage, she headed toward his bike as usual, but he tugged at her sleeve. "We have to take your car." He said.

Again she looked puzzled, but said nothing. Her car had not moved from its spot since she parked Monday morning. When they reached it and got in, she asked, "Where are we going?"

House made a hand gesture that indicated he had no idea whatever. "It was a kind of spur-of-the-moment suggestion."

"We both like Paisano," she suggested.

"How 'bout somewhere that doesn't deliver. Just for variety's sake."

Cameron realized this was his way of saying he wanted to go somewhere a bit more posh. "What about Mortimer's," she asked, naming a steak house.

"Yeah, take us there."

They drove in silence. Between House's strange, nervous behavior, his insistence that she have her car with her, and his desire to be in a decorous public setting, Cameron was sure she knew what was coming: a public break up. She began planning what she would say when he told her.

_You can't decide this; I don't agree to this!_

_You can't do this, I love you._

_Why are you doing this, you love me, I know you love me._

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel; her heart raced. She reviewed every moment they had spent together in her mind: what had she done to set him off? She couldn't remember anything significant, but this only made her feel worse. If she didn't know what she'd done, she couldn't assure him it wouldn't happen again.

They arrived and were seated promptly. When the waiter came for their drink order, House asked for a double scotch rocks.

"Club soda for me," she replied. To House's raised eyebrows she answered, "I'm the driver, remember?" She wanted her senses crisp when the moment came.

House perused the menu, oblivious to her tension. "I don't know why I even look, I always get a porterhouse. What are you having?"

"Certainly not a 20 oz porterhouse," she said, attempting to mask her discomfort.

"Even I can't come close to finishing it, but it's the best. You don't eat much, we could just get two plates," he suggested tentatively.

_Dumping me and he won't even buy me my own entree_, she thought. "Okay."

This time he heard the strain in her voice, but had no idea of the source. He blindly searched for one. "Did Chase or Foreman say something to upset you?"

"No," she whispered. _Oh, God, do Chase and Foreman know what he's doing? Wilson does, I'm sure._

He began to be sure he had done something to upset her, but had no idea what. That they were both in this identical mindset did nothing at all for their small talk. Each searched the other's words desperately for subtext that wasn't there. When the waiter came to offer dessert, he searched her expression for a clue. "Two coffees please," he answered. He couldn't let them go home in this state, but he had no plan for fixing things.

Cameron thought he must be losing his nerve, and the last thing she wanted to do was return to her flat with a man who regretted he hadn't chucked her when he had the chance. "Why did we need to take my car tonight?" She scowled.

"I…that displeased over being the designated driver?"

"That can't be your only reason."

_Can she ever read me_, he thought. "And what other reason could there be?"

"You want to know I'll have a ride home after you dump me." He furrowed his brow and looked away in open-mouthed shock. She read this as shock he had been found out. "You act all jumpy, it's the first we moved my car in a week, take me to a public place so I won't make a scene." She stood up. "Well I'm making a scene! This isn't over. You don't get to decide that this is over."

He tried to take her hand and pull her back to her seat, but she resisted. He looked around the restaurant; all eyes were on them. He muttered, "Cameron, I'm not breaking up with you. Sit down!"

She collapsed into her chair. "If you'd just talk to me about whatever's bothering you. What the hell did I do wrong?"

"Cameron, shut up and listen." She hung her head, and he thought he had never seen her so miserable. "Note to self: don't try to surprise Cameron."

"What surprise."

"Cameron, I was nervous because I have a surprise vacation planned for tomorrow. We need your car so we can carry your bags. I took you to a restaurant so I could get used to people staring at us before I had to do it in swim trunks, but I had no idea how much practice you were going to give me." He looked around them. Most patrons had returned to their meals but some looked on avidly.

"Vacation?"

"Three days! The hospital has spared no expense."

"God, I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. Well, it is unfathomable that between he two of us, you're the one afraid to be jilted. Not _exactly_ mensa material, are you."

"Where are we going?"

"Tut tut, it's a surprise."

She rolled her eyes in irritation. "If I don't know where I'm going, how can I pack?"

"Now you see the beauty of the plan. You can't pack, no clothes. No clothes, you'll be naked all weekend."

"Wait a minute, you said swim trunks!" His face fell. "Ha! I win. Now who's mensa material?"

He shook his head. "You have no idea where we're going. Every hotel in the country has a pool."

She smirked. "Whatever you say."

"That could be fun. Check please!"

TBC.


	15. Anything You Say

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

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**15**

House lay on the bed next to Cameron's open suitcase. She turned to him and held up a sensible blue one-piece swimsuit. "Would this be appropriate for your mystery destination?"

"Perhaps a little _too_ appropriate," he hinted as she tossed it in the case.

"I see." She turned her attention back to the closet, and then held up a black string bikini. "Something like this." House's eyes glazed over; she took his speechlessness as a sign of approval. She added a second bikini for good measure. "So, what goes with bikinis?" she asked, turning back to the closet. In the end, she didn't need to know where they were going, as House approved or vetoed every item she packed. She held up a hanger, "What about the red dress?"

He shook his head. "If you pack that we'll never make it out of the hotel room. This is plenty of stuff."

She chuckled and returned it. "What about _your_ bags?"

"Already packed, we just have to swing by and pick them up on the way to the hospital."

"If our destination is the hospital, you'll have a hard time talking me into the swim wear."

"It's just a pit stop."

"Okay," she stretched out the word in contrived dubiousness as she set the suitcase aside.

House looked around the room. "Now, what do you do around here to pass the time?"

She kneeled on the bed next to him. "We could play that game you suggested."

He shook his head to indicate he had no clue what she was talking about. "What game?"

"Anything you say."

A smile tugged at the corner of House's mouth. _Jackpot._ He took a deep breath; contemplated the endless possibilities. "Anything?"

She nodded solemnly.

He shuddered. Obviously, he wouldn't take undo advantage of this liberty, but the idea of it got him hard enough to cut glass. "Stand up and take off your top." She unbuttoned the cuffs of her little puff sleeves first. Next the front, one button at a time, eyes locked on his. She slipped it off onto the floor. "Pants." They pooled around her already bare feet. "Turn around."

Cameron kicked the pants aside and turned her back to him. She sensed his eyes on her, and thought that it might be the sexiest she ever felt. She wanted to touch herself, but he hadn't given permission so she stood motionless.

"Unhook your bra." Her hands impatiently rushed to do his bidding, but he interrupted. "Slower." He saw her shoulders tremble and her body clench at the word. When she had finished with the clasp, she held it to her body; waited. "Okay, you can drop it." She complied.

House removed his own clothes as he stared at her flawless naked back. He stroked himself as he said, "toss me your panties over your shoulder." He caught them with his left hand and observed they were saturated. "You're turned on," he said simply. He saw the tight bun of her coiled hair bob as she nodded. "Turn around."

She turned, and he frankly stared at her. "Take your hair down." She did so, shaking her curls loose in a move that forced House's eyes to momentarily close lest he lose control. The word, "perfect" involuntarily escaped his lips.

"Lie down and make yourself come." He wasn't sure how this would go over, and worried a bit when her eyes widened.

"Anything you say," she said as she moved to lie crosswise on the bed. He stood to watch as she slid her hands down her body and touched herself with expert dexterity. House's naturally observant nature caused him to memorize her motions for future reference: circle here, slide there, pressure here. That he had told her to do this, that he watched her made it incredibly exciting, and she was shortly arching off the mattress, free hand clutching wildly at the sheets.

"Your turn; anything you say."

"Fuck me."

The combination of authority in her voice with the raunchy talk almost had House coming on the spot, but he mustered his will and moved to comply. He grasped her hips and pushed into her; looked down at her limp body, damp from her exertions. She looked fragile. "You're so small," he said.

"Harder." He complied, and she continued to urge him on with cries of "More," and "Don't stop," and "Harder," until he could take no more and came inside her. He lay down and gathered her to him, her head on his chest. His last thought before drifting off was that after only five days he could no longer imagine sleeping alone.

House woke in the night. He carefully disentangled himself from Cameron and slinked out of the bedroom. After using the bathroom, he stood in the hall and looked toward the living room. Street light filtered through the blinds and fell on the bookcase. He glared at it. He paced.

Finally he made up his mind, and quietly dressed. He borrowed Cameron's keys, grabbed the book, and peeled off in her car.

He blinked as he walked into the unnatural, impersonal daylight of Kinkos. He looked around; he was the only customer. Only one staff member was on duty, and he waddled away from his machine to take House's order.

"How can I help you today?"

House grimaced and gestured at Cameron's journal. "I need a copy of this."

Eric, if his name tag was to be trusted, winced as he picked up the book and leafed through it. "See sir, the problem with _this_ document is that we're not going to be able to put it through the feeder. Unless we cut the spine off." He opened the book and ran his finger along the spine as if measuring where to chop.

"No no no no no. NO. We, we…no."

Eric winced again. "Yeah, so we would have to hand place each page—"

"Do that then."

Eric pushed his glasses up his nose and tilted his head to the side. "Sir, that's seventy-five cents per hand placement. Now, I don't know how many pages you have here…" He riffled through the book again.

"Fine, just make a copy."

Eric looked skeptical, but reached for his order envelope. "Okay sir, when did you want to pick this up?"

"Noooo. No. I need to wait for it."

"Sir, hand placement in time consuming, you want to line it up pretty carefully there."

"Just make a copy! I don't care if it's fucking straight!"

"Sir, there's no need to take that kind of tone with me. Okay," he said, trading the envelope for the post-it note pad used for short-term orders. "So just the one copy then."

House nodded.

"And what color paper did you want sir?"

"White?!"

"Single or double sided?"

"I _don't _CARE!"

"And would you like that bound?"

"Fine. Whatever."

He reached under the counter and brought out a display of the different binding options. "Okay, do you want the comb bind, the spiral, the velo, the tape, the—"

"Spiral," House interjected.

"Sir, just so you know…that _is_ a dollar extra for the spiral bind."

House covered his face with his hands.

Eric continued, "Sir, are you the author of the document?"

House lowered his hands. "Why?"

"Sir, if you are _not_ the author, I'm going to have to see your written authorization from the copyright holder prior to duplication."

"I'm the author."

"Okay, seems like everything's in order here. We've got one copy on white, hand-placed, single-sided with the spiral bind. I'm going to assume a black cover is fine?"

House clenched his teeth and nodded.

"I'll call you when it's done."

House paced back and forth guiltily. _You didn't do anything; it's just a copy. It doesn't mean you're going to read it, _he told himself. Of course having a copy meant that the temptation would be constant rather than intermittent, but at least he would now have no reason to avoid Cameron's apartment.

Eric motioned him back to the counter. "That's fifty-seven dollars and twenty-two cents, sir."

"Fifty—!"

"Sir, this document can't go through the feeder—" House tossed his Visa card onto the counter, and Eric rang him up. "Would you like a box today sir?"

"Yeah." The bound copy was wrapped in paper and put into a brown cardstock box. "Could you tape it closed for me?" Eric secured it with two small strips of scotch tape. "I mean, _really_ tape it." Eric reached for the strapping tape and went to town: House would need a razor to get through. "Do you have a larger box?" Eric repeated his ministrations, and the offending tome was now double wrapped and completely ensconced in tape.

Eric admired his handi-work, then handed it to House. "You have a good day, sir."

House returned to Cameron's apartment, replaced the journal, and secreted the box in his backpack. He crept back into bed and cradled her in his arms. _She'll never know_. With this simultaneously pleasant and torturous thought, he fell asleep.

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**Author's Note:** See that, just below. On the left. You click there please—type words. I'd do it for you.


	16. Breakfast's On House

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** It's hard times for all of us with alerts mysteriously turned off. Just remember that if you log in and review the latest chapter, it gets recorded in your review history. Then, if I update, that review in your history will be flagged orange. To say nothing of the fact I live on reviews.

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**16**

Forman and Chase were already seated at the conference table when House and Cameron traipsed in. House addressed them, "Okay, kiddies. Daddy needs a day off, so I told Cuddy I was taking you to Florida for a team building retreat. You have to leave the hospital, but the day is yours. Freshen up your highlights, grand-theft auto—the world's your oyster."

Chase snorted. "Why don't you just take a personal day, I'm sure you have them."

Forman shook his head at Chase's lack of perception. "This way Cameron has the day off too, and no one is suspicious. _They're_ going to Florida."

House acknowledged this by touching the side of his nose. "So, everybody out. If Cuddy asks you what we did, just say, 'I don't betray the circle of trust.' And don't answer your phone if it's _anyone_ from the hospital."

"Why?" they asked in unison.

"No cell phones in the circle of trust. Have a nice weekend, I know I will," he said, leering suggestively at Dr. Cameron, who blushed. He passed through his office to deposit his Kinkos box in his desk, then out of the hospital with Cameron in tow.

"I take it we're not telling Cuddy?" Chase asked.

"No, his backlash would outweigh anything we got out of Cuddy. And this way we have leverage in the future."

"I like the sound of that. So what do we do?"

"I say breakfast is on House this morning."

Chase looked puzzled. "You know where he keeps his money?"

Forman laughed. "No, we know where he keeps his food. His kitchen."

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By 1:45pm, Cameron and House were entering their lavish suite. "House, why are we in Miami?"

"Bikini."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You've seen me in less."

"You ask too many questions."

She nodded. "Okay. Well, anyway thank you."

"You're easy to please; we haven't even gotten to the good part." He gingerly settled onto the bed.

"What's the good part?" she asked as she curled up against him.

"I'd show you, but my leg's too sore from the flight."

She detected the playful note in his complaint. "Do you think a massage might help?"

"What a good idea," he said in a way that made it clear he had intended nothing else.

Cameron moved to the end of the bed and removed House's shoes and socks. She started with his left foot, using her thumbs in his arch and eliciting a groan of approval. She slipped her hands under his pant leg to move up his calf. She watched the House's expression for the relaxation and pleasure he couldn't convey with words. She repeated this process on the right side. "Let's get you out of these uncomfortable pants," she said as she opened his straining zipper. He lifted his hips so she could remove them.

She took him in her mouth, and he threw his head back. "What happened to my massage?"

"What happened to showing me the good part?" She slipped her hand up her skirt and pulled off her panties with one hand; tossed them aside. She straddled him and guided him into her. He grabbed her hips and rolled her onto her back, kissed her neck. Though it had been less than a week, he knew exactly how to make Cameron squeal. He adjusted the angle of his strokes and slid his tongue against hers. He kissed her with his eyes open so he could watch her squeeze hers tightly when she came. The sight and sensation of her orgasm was more than he could take, and he pushed into her one last time and moaned against her mouth. It had only lasted five minutes and they were still mostly dressed. As he rolled off her, panting, she gave a satisfied little sigh and said, "Thank you."

"Again, not the good part. We could do that at home." He reached for his discarded pants, and rifled through them for the source of the tell-tale shaking. He took one and then proffered the bottle towards Cameron, who merely laughed. "Fine, but don't say I never offered you anything."

"Very generous," she agreed.

"That reminds me, everything's on the generous Dr. Cuddy. We should order room service." He reached to the bedside table and retrieved the menu, then pulled her into the crook of his arm so they could both read. "What do you want?"

"Um…the risotto."

"And the Steak Diane for me. What do you think Dr. Foreman wants?" Cameron flashed him her patented -_what the hell are you up to_- look. "Blondie and Blackie have to eat too. Itemized billing."

She rolled her eyes. "Get him the risotto too."

"No, no. It has to be personalized. We'll get Foreman the barbeque pork and cornbread. Chase gets braised beef in Guinness just like back home." She wrinkled her nose. "I hate beef in Guinness." "It was already clear you had no taste when you asked me out." He reached for the phone to place their order.

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Wilson used his key to let himself in. Taking in House's mail after work made a good excuse not to rush home to nothing in particular. He was surprised to find Foreman and Chase on the sofa watching TV, the coffee table littered with dirty dishes. They looked up when he came in, but quickly returned their attention to the screen.

"I thought you guys were going on a team building retreat. I know he wouldn't use his condo for that…"

"House took Cameron to Florida," Foreman answered without looking up.

This sounded much more plausible than team building. "So you guys come in here and cook with his food?" The pair now looked slightly shamed. Wilson reached for the bundle of delivery menus. "Amateurs. Several of these places have his credit card number on file."

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**TBC.**


	17. Have You Done This Before?

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s.)

**Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who leaves me a comment or review, I love you! And special thanks to NaiveEve for giving me a read-through and being made of awesome.

Looks like good ole ff . net is on the mend...if only we could post as word docs.

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17

As they pulled up to their destination, Cameron became impatient. "Why does _everything_ have to be a surprise?"

"So you won't try to escape."

"That's right. My months of scheming to get into your pants culminates with my abrupt departure when you try to take me...what? Digging for clams? Treasure hunt? Parasailing?"

He dropped from the shuttle van with surprising agility. "Snorkeling." He put out his hand to help her down, which she accepted.

"I love snorkeling," she said with evident surprise.

"I know." His tone was purposefully emotionless, but secretly he was thrilled at her reaction.

"_How_ did you know?"

"I know everything." Her look told him she wasn't satisfied with this explanation. He sighed heavily. "You're the kid who spoils everything by asking the magician how he does it."

"How _do_ you do it?"

House smirked. "Very well."

"Very funny."

They arrived at the boat, and Cameron was surprised to see that they were not part of a large tour group; House had chartered a private trip. The captain left them much to themselves as he motored them out to a great spot, and she was very happy to lean back against House's chest and enjoy the sunshine and sea air.

"Have you done this before?"

"You are the only gorgeous doctor I ever stole a vacation for. Chase asked me, but I don't swing that way."

"Snorkeling. Have you ever snorkeled before."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and bent to whisper in her ear. "No."

Cameron shivered. She loved the idea of being with him when he experienced something for the first time, especially something she loved so much. "When I was a little girl I wanted to be Jacque Cousteau."

"I think videos of you in a wetsuit could sell."

At this, she playfully elbowed him in the ribs. "You're supposed to love me for my mind," she informed him.

House thought, _I love you for your everything_, but said, "Why does every pretty girl wish there was more of her to love?"

"You are a very," she kissed him, "bad," she kissed him, "man."

They had arrived, and Cameron set about showing House how to clear his snorkel and mask if they should fill with water. House's leg would have made fins impractical, so they left them behind in favor of a more relaxed swim closer to the boat. She turned to the captain, "How do we get back on afterwards?" He indicated the ladder, and Cameron was relieved to see it was not a rope ladder but a very sturdy one made of steel and plastic. House wouldn't have substantial difficulty climbing it.

House had planned snorkeling with Cameron in mind; he hadn't expected to enjoy it. He loved her joyful expression in the snorkeling mask photo he'd seen in her apartment. The idea of gliding along holding hands and ogling fish had seemed more than a little girly. But, he was taken in by the experience. The water, the light, the silence: he felt the world was composed of just the two of them.

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Wilson leaned forward to snag another slice of pizza. "Is this as far as your brilliant plan goes? Eating and watching TV?"

"We've got no reason to mess with him. He can make our lives hell," answered Foreman.

"You said yourself we've got leverage," Chase chimed in.

Wilson nodded emphatically. "That's right. He uses you guys to steal a trip to Florida, on the hospital dime I'm sure. Makes your life hell."

Foreman shook his head. "What's in it for you? I thought you were his friend."

"We prank each other all the time."

"Exactly," Forman replied. "Each other! We prank him, he'll get us and it'll never end."

"No, you've got a perfect out. He doesn't want you to tell Cuddy."

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When they arrived at shore, the sun was setting and a walk on the beach seemed indicated. Unfortunately, House's cane would be useless on sand. He stood at the dock and looked out at the scene, getting angrier by the second. Cameron recognized this and silently lifted his right hand off his cane and around her shoulders. Their progress was slow, but they had no reason to hurry.

House took in the panorama: the sand and waves, swaying palm trees, sky tinted orange and pink. He started to worry what Cameron was thinking about this scene. Possibly she found the whole thing incredibly romantic and started picturing their wedding and naming their unborn children. A week ago he wouldn't have doubted that it was exactly what she was thinking. Now he knew her much better. Since making him pasta, Cameron hadn't once asked him what he was feeling or where this was going; she seemed completely content to take only what she was given. Now that she knew he liked her enough to be involved, it seemed that that was all she wanted. The thought that she wasn't planning her forever around him was far more troubling than the thought that she was.

He wanted to ask her about this; wanted to turn to her and say, 'what _have you named our unborn children, because I've always liked Jack_,' just to gauge her reaction. He wanted her to stop walking and ask him in an anxious voice, _'where is this all going, House? You can't just take me to Miami and screw me six ways from sundown!_' but she didn't. So they continued to walk in silence until the sun dipped below the horizon.

They had reached a beachfront seafood restaurant. Cameron turned to him and said, "We could get crabs," and laughed at the old STD joke.

House wrinkled his brow and shook his head. "Where did you come from?"

"Come on," she said and turned them resolutely toward the restaurant. He followed resignedly, thinking it couldn't be worse than the last time they dined out.

The waiter arrived to take their order. He and all the other servers wore t-shirts that read, I got CRABS in Florida.

Cameron was delighted. "Do you sell those shirts?" The waiter indicated a giftshop near the exit.

House smirked. "Do you have youth large?" Cameron laughed heartily at this. House carefully memorized the moment; she was usually so restrained.

"You know, it's not so comfortable wearing children's clothes."

"You won't have to wear it very long," he answered and was rewarded with another belly laugh.

It was a perfect evening out: plastic bibs, pounding food into submission with mallets, feeding each other crab with butter drenched fingers. House marveled inwardly at his months of stupidity: look at what he'd been missing. He'd always known she'd be beautiful, sexy, and affectionate. The startling surprise was: she was fun.

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	18. Plan B

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note**: This chapter is dedicated to NaiveEve, who now composes 20 percent of my personality. I couldn't possibly like you any more than this.

**18**

Foreman sighed resignedly. If they were hell bent on pranking House, he wasn't going to miss it. "What would we even do?" he asked, and both men heard the defeat in his voice.

"We could reprogram his Tivo," Chase suggested.

"I'm not sure he'd forgive that," Wilson answered. "I always avoided that one."

Forman held up a finger. "When I was in high school we hid a raw chicken in this guy's car. We could hide something smelly around here."

"That's just disgusting." Wilson hung around House's flat too often to want it ruined. "We've have three strong guys, we could rearrange all the furniture."

Chase and Foreman shook their heads in unison. "He'll make us come put it all back," Foreman informed him. "No point. We should take away something he wants, like replace his scotch with some other liquid."

At this moment, Chase detected something between the couch cushions and pulled it out. He displayed a very tiny, very familiar pair of blue cotton panties. "Until I saw these I never really believed it, you know: him and her."

Wilson leaned forward suddenly, excited by his inspiration. "Take away something he wants: we destroy his condoms."

They all laughed. "That's perfect. How should we do it? Obviously not just put a pin through them. It has to be obvious."

Wilson threw the crust of his slice into the now empty pizza box and stood up. "Follow me." He lead them to the bedroom, where he opened a bedside drawer and removed the substantial remains of a bulk box of Durex Extra-Sensitive from Condoms Depot.

The three hung out on House's couch long into the night: watching his TV, drinking his scotch, and inflating his condoms.

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House and Cameron slept late Saturday. Occasionally one would wake to the sound of heavy rain through the open french doors of the balcony, but they just rolled over and slept again. It was the first morning they had spent together without having to rush off to the hospital. Eventually Cameron felt she could sleep no more, and she rolled onto her side to watch House's repose.

House lifted his eyelids fractionally, undetectably. He observed her observing him. He moved suddenly to push her onto her back and pin her down. She screamed involuntarily. "Caught you."

Cameron sighed contentedly. "Do you have secret plans for today too?"

"I had a plans, but it appears they've been rained out."

Cameron bit her lip. She hated the thought that he wouldn't get to see his schemes through. "Tell me what we were going to do."

"The Seaquarium."

Cameron had heard of the tourist attraction. "You would have liked that?" she asked skeptically.

House pulled a face. He considered a polite lie, but the thought of the crowds of idiots was utterly unappealing. "No."

She leaned over to peck a kiss on his forehead. "Lucky for us it rained," she said. It meant a lot to her that House would step outside his comfort zone for her. "Now we have to come up with plan B."

"I'm sure that tweedle dum and tweedle dee are hungry by now," he suggested.

Cameron laughed and reached for the phone. "Room service? Brunch for four."

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As they stepped under the shelter of the museum, Cameron shook and furled their umbrella. She was wearing a skirt that fell to mid-calf and a simple blouse. The combination of the architecture, her dress, and the task put House in mind of black and white films, and he thought to himself that she was a timeless beauty. Then berated himself for going soft.They stepped inside and paid their fee. Their footfalls echoed off the marble walls and floors.

"I guess museums aren't why people come to Florida," House said as he looked around the dimly lit hall. There were hardly any other patrons.

"It's not too late to go to Disneyland if you prefer," she teased.

House made an amused, non-committal noise and walked toward an exhibit that had caught his eye. Cameron joined him. It was a display case of Egyptian artifacts. "You've been to Egypt, right?"

"My father was stationed there for a while," he nodded.

"What's that?" Cameron indicated a vicious looking implement.

"Tools for mummification. They removed the brain through the nose." Cameron's eyes went wide. "It's true," he assured her.

Cameron shook her head in disbelief, and walked on to the next display, which contained carefully preserved human remains. "Did they perform autopsy?"

"I don't think there's any evidence of that. They removed the organs though."

Cameron hid her surprise. Was there anything he didn't know?

"They did simple surgeries to remove tumors, and they had specialists."

Cameron turned to face him. "What specialties?"

"Oh, they had ophthalmologists, gastroenterologists. And of course _neru phuyt_, the anus shepherd." At her quizzical look he added, "Proctologists."

Cameron laughed.

"And they had an impressive range of pharmacology, but most of their treatments didn't work."

"That sounds like your treatments," she teased.

"My treatments work eventually!" he retorted.

She nodded in agreement. "You have an impressive range of pharmacology."

House rolled his eyes. They had reached the end of the exhibit, and House consulted the flier they'd received. "Egyptology makes you mean. Maybe they have some nice pictures of flowers and birds."

She looked over his shoulder. "I want to see the instruments." House looked surprised, but led the way. They walked along before a succession of stringed instruments.

"Do you play?" he asked.

"No," she said. She regretted they couldn't share that.

House saw her disappointment. "Well, you could still be in the band. You can sing."

Cameron snorted. "You've never heard me sing."

House didn't answer, just sang a line from their half-silent duet in the grocery store. "Well Holly I love you too, but there's just so much that I don't know about you."

She slapped his arm. "You were watching a lot longer than I knew." He nodded. "Stalker."

He raised an eyebrow. "Look who's talking. You're House-obsessed."

She turned her attention back to the display in a futile attempt to hide her blush. "The words 'lute' may have derived from Arabic word _al'ud_, meaning the wood," she read off the card.

"Then again it may not. They don't sound too sure." He stood behind her, and ran his hands down her sides to rest on her hips. How many times had he stared at her from behind and imagined doing just that. He dropped a kiss on her left shoulder.

"Tell me everything you know about the lute. Go," she raised her wrist to view her watch.

"Primarily made of wood, the lute traditionally possesses a teardrop shaped soundboard featuring a single decorated sound hole called the rose. The sound hole is not open as in a guitar, but rather carved into a decorative grill. The lute's strings are arranged in courses, usually of two strings each, though the highest-pitched course usually consists of only a single string, called the _chantarelle._ So an 8-course Renaissance lute will usually have 15 strings. Lutes are known to have been widely used in antient cultures from Egypt to Greece to Persia to China."

"30 seconds. That's not all you know about lutes by half, is it?" She turned in his arms.

"No, lutes are also notorious panty-peelers. Just ask Sting."

"You don't need a lute," she informed him.

House grinned smugly. "So I've learned." He leaned down to kiss her, and her arms snaked up around his neck. They were interrupted by the sound of a throat being vigorously cleared.

"The museum will close in 15 minutes," the docent informed them.

House looked at his wrist. "It's 3:45!" The docent merely retreated. "No wonder everyone in Miami is made of plastic. There's no time to become cultured before they shut the place down."

"Calm down. You were already cultured."

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They stopped for Dinner when they saw a sign advertising live piano. They seated themselves at the bar and ordered food. Unfortunately, they learned the pianist was taking a sick day.

Later when the bartender came to collect their empty plates, Cameron said, "I've never heard you play."

House looked around. It was early yet, and the bar was mostly deserted. "Do you mind?" he asked the bartender. He didn't, and House moved to sit at the instrument.

House started playing a jazz song that Cameron recognized, but couldn't have named. He improvised around the theme, closed his eyes and seemed so _into_ the music. Cameron knew very little about jazz; just enough to sense that his performance was better than merely competent. She looked around the room at the other patrons, many of whom must be far more knowledgeable. She was pleased to see that they seemed impressed.

When the song came to an end, someone called out a request. House didn't respond; he just started to play it. More people filled in, and House was never short of recommendations of what to play next. The bartender kept Cameron's free cocktails flowing, and she couldn't think of a more pleasant way to spend an evening than watching House please the crowd.

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They returned to the suite and fell into the quiet domesticity of packing their bags and preparing for bed. House finished first, and lay on top of the sheets waiting for her clad only in his boxers.

Cameron came out of the bathroom wearing a hip-length nightgown and crawled onto the bed. She knelt straddling his left thigh, and leaned down to kiss him. She settled her weight onto his chest. They made out for some time, House's hands remaining chastely above the silk.

She broke the kiss and leaned back a bit to stare at him. She traced a finger down the side of his faced. "You are _so_ beautiful."

"Now you're just saying what you want to hear _me_ say to _you_," he teased.

Cameron defensively, un-thinkingly replied, "No I'm not. You **_know_** I'm not because I haven't said…" She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together. She couldn't believe how much she'd just given away. She looked at him. She saw him quickly take in the fact that she wanted to hear 'I love you.' She saw him decide not to say it.

"Hmm," he said. "Something _you_ haven't said that you want _me_ to say…" House rolled her onto her back, and started to slide backwards on his stomach. "I don't remember you ever saying you want to go down on me." Cameron closed her eyes. He was trying to make it easy for her to slip past her embarrassing confession, and the idea brought a sad smile to her lips. This is all he could give her, and she would take it.

House saw her smile; read her mind as usual. "That's it eh? Can't get enough of my mouth." She didn't respond; she didn't want to cheapen herself by lying even with a nod. He moved his head between her thighs, and she felt the scrape of his five o'clock shadow. He began to make love to her, and she felt her silent tears slip down to the pillow.

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	19. That Gets Me Hot

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** This chapter is dedicated to KateJ. Thank you for your reviews; I'm addicted to you like you're addicted to me. I can't tell you how much it means to me to be liked by you; you're lovely.

(NaiveEve: This is what I call pulling an E: no advance warning, no foreplay—just post it. Surprise.)

**19**

House unlocked his front door with difficulty, stumbled in and dropped his bags. Cameron followed, carrying hers in a bit further. She took one look at the coffee table and said, "House, someone's been here."

"Goldilocks?" House struggled past the luggage to join her by the couch. The coffee table was littered with a pizza box, assorted beer bottles and dishes, and a scattering of condom wrappers. "Someone's been fucking on my couch." House's eyes flitted around the mess; drawing deductions.

"Who would do this?" Cameron asked.

"Elementary my dear Watson." House picked up a dirty napkin by the corner, and held it up for her to examine. "I only know one oncologist with keys to my condo and a phobia of pizza grease." He dropped the napkin and added with a dramatic flourish, "But he didn't act alone!"

Cameron picked up one of the beer bottles. The wrapper had been peeled off in one perfect piece, and replaced upside-down. "Foreman does this."

Using the end of his cane, House lifted the blue panties up off the table and examined them. "Never mind." He dropped them. "Those are yours."

He flipped through the debris. "Pizza box on top of menus on top of mail on top of breakfast dishes for two." He dropped it all. "Chase and Foreman were here festering, then Wilson comes along and exacerbates the pre-existing infection. The only surprising part is the condom wrappers."

"You _don't_ think they would bring girls here?"

"Ducklings wouldn't dare; Wilson would hide the evidence. Something else was going on."

House sat on the couch and continued to puzzle over the clues, while Cameron carried a suitcase to the bedroom. She dropped it just inside the door, and stood staring. "House!"

House rose to his feet and called ahead of him, "Of course. The bears find her in the bedroom." When he arrived behind Cameron, he put his hands on her hips and looked over her shoulder. On the nearest corner of the bed rested an empty box. The rest of its surface was completely covered by a mound of condom balloons; additional ones had fallen off and littered the floor.

"That gets me hot."

His fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt. "Unfortunately we're out of condoms." Cameron said nothing, but snuggled her back against his chest. House slipped his right thumb under her waistband and pressed on a shiny plastic square. "We trust this thing?"

Cameron nodded. He turned her to face him. "Pants," he said as he reached to unbutton her shirt. Seconds later she was naked, leaning on him as she stepped out of her panties. Taking advantage of this precarious pose, House pushed her backwards, and she landed among the balloons, laughing.

House stripped and tossed himself onto the bed, displacing more condoms and eliciting more laughter from Cameron. He ran his hand up between her thighs and, feeling the slickness there, inserted two fingers without preamble. Her eyes widened, but she smiled. "This does get you hot." She nodded.

The thought that she was so ready for him at so little provocation was intensely erotic to House, and he grasped her hips and pushed into her, hard and sudden. Cameron threw her head back and released a breathy "yes."

The lack of a barrier between them consumed House's thoughts. He watched his bare cock slide in and out of her; eyes riveted to the spot. Cameron lifted her hips to meet each stroke, and in the flurry of activity a balloon slipped under her ass and popped loudly as he rammed into her. She let out a delighted scream-let. "More."

Now House's arms reached out to scoop balloons closer, slip them under her while he fucked her. They were fairly sturdy; sometimes it took a few thrusts to break one. With each loud pop she shrieked with pleasure. This gave House pause. He reduced his force fractionally, only to hear her demand, "Harder!"

Now each powerful stroke was drawing an audible, repetitive "ugh" from Cameron and she was being forced slowly backwards along the mattress, through the sea of condoms. When he saw her lick her right fingers and apply circular pressure on her clit, his eyes rolled back in his head and a growl rumbled from his throat.

Cameron looked House squarely in the eye and said, "I'm gonna come." She observed his eyes flick shut and his shoulders shudder at this news; she reveled in the fact he was at her mercy. He increased his pace, and she came hard: eyes closing, teeth clenching—arching off the bed, clawing at the sheets. She tasted adrenaline and reminded herself to breathe.

She collected her thoughts enough to see that their position is starting to strain his leg. She pushed him off her into a kneeling position; swung her right leg into a sexy arc to land on all fours. This way she could press back against him; he could simply kneel with his weight on his strong side. He grasped her hips, pulled her back onto his prick. '_I didn't know I could still do this one_,' he thought, and he loved her for the revelation.

He looked at his fingers splayed on her ass, the glint of her juices on him when he pulls out. Fat beads of sweat drip off his face, run down his chest. He is awed by the vigorousness of it, of fucking her. He wants more, but he is tiring. He sagged back to sit on the bed, and she followed onto his lap; did the work. His hands slipped around to grope her breasts, and she groaned loudly. He grabbed her hips and came inside her, shaking.

"That was…_athletic_."

Cameron grinned, rose from the bed. "I'll go get them."

As he waited for her to return with his pills, he mentally composed a 'thank you' note that Wilson, Chase, and Foreman would never read.


	20. Penny For Your Thoughts

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note: **This chapter is dedicated to KateJ for making me the best present I've ever received. You can find it on YouTube—it's a HouseCameron FanVid set to Aimee Mann's _Save Me_.

**20 ****  
**

When she and House arrived, Cameron made a beeline for the coffee maker and House threw himself down in a chair at the conference table. Chase and Foreman looked up, looked for a reaction.

"Okay, if you think that by threatening to tell Cuddy you can get away with having red-hot gay sex in my bed, well... that's where you're right. _But_, and I'm only saying this because I care – the condoms will be more effective if you don't inflate them."

Chase blushed scarlet, but Foreman merely raised an eyebrow and said, "Thanks for the tip. Shouldn't you be in the clinic?"

House dropped his head to lie on the table and grasped its edge. "Ugh. Clinic."

Cameron came and sat next to him. "There's no reason you shouldn't cut your clinic shifts to once a week."

"There is a reason. Cuddy. You've seen her—dark hair, huge jugs?"

"All you have to do is _look_ busy when the boss comes by." She got up, and plopped a pile of charting on the table before him." She sat beside him and took half the pile for herself. "Open the file, hold the pen. If Cuddy comes, write. She'll be so thrilled you're doing actual work, she'll let you reduce your clinic hours."

House opened a file and stared at her. "Then I have to just sit here all day."

Cameron rolled her eyes. "Only until she comes by, then you're off scot-free."

House mulled the plan over. "That'll never work."

Just then, Cuddy stormed in. "What are you doing? You're meant to be in the clinic."

Cameron piped up, "Charting. We've agreed to that by being more current with are record-keeping we'll facilitate efficiency and optimize positive results by implementing systemization."

This went over Cuddy's head, but she was nonetheless impressed. "_You._ Are _charting._ I don't believe my eyes."

"Well…systemization, etc. You know how it is."

Cuddy furrowed her brow. "Is this about the retreat? What did you do anyway?"

House smirked. "I can't tell you that, just that we _all_ had a good time this weekend, and I'm glad I got the **big** box of condoms. They go faster than you'd think." Cameron pinched her nose to keep from laughing aloud.

Cuddy turned to Chase and Foreman. "What went on down there?"

Behind her back, House raised his eyebrows. Chase said, "I'm sorry Dr. Cuddy. I can't…" He licked his lips, "betray the circle of trust."

"Foreman?" She tapped her foot; he shook his head. "Fine. It looks like you and Dr. Cameron have plenty of legitimate work to do. You two," she narrowed her eyes at Foreman and Chase, "make yourselves useful. I don't pay you to do the crossword." She turned on her heel and left as precipitously as she had entered.

House cocked his head to the side and marveled at the encounter. He looked at Cameron with new appreciation, then stood up. "_You_ are a treasure above rubies." He set a mug in front of her. "Dark, two sugars."

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House entered Wilson's office and slammed the door behind him. "What the fuck."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb with me."

Wilson chuckled. "Got you."

House reflected on exactly what Jimmy's actions had "got him." He smiled.

"We were on vacation. You don't think we had contraception with us?"

Wilson sighed. "What are you here for then?"

"I want you to read this." He dumped the heavily taped box onto Wilson's desk.

"Umm, 'kinkos, kinkos, kinkos' is about all I see to read here."

House rolled his eyes. "Inside the box, ass. It's Cameron's journal."

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "No way."

"Yes way. You read it, and give me a little book report. It's win-win: I get all the dirt but my hands are clean." House pushed the box toward Wilson.

He shoved it back. "For _you_ it's win-win. No chance."

"Every man has his price. Start negotiating."

"How 'bout I pretend to read it, and give you a fabricated book report. It's win-**win**-win."

House shook his head and used his cane to push the box clear across to Wilson's side. "That _would_ have worked until you told me about it. Now I can't trust you."

Wilson sighed. "Good, so I don't have to read it." He took the box and hid it in his desk.

"What are you doing? That's mine!"

Wilson shook his head. "No, I'm going to destroy it."

House sighed. "Now I'll just end up reading it in her apartment and getting caught. Or make another sixty dollar copy."

"No, now you'll _tell her_."

"I'd read your girlfriend's journal."

"I've never been with a woman who keeps a journal."

"Yeah, introspection's probably low on their list of priorities."

"Nice."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cameron unlocked the door to admit him, then carried their wrapped leftovers to the fridge. She turned back around and jumped when she saw House right behind her. He folded her tightly into his arms, and kissed her like he'd never see her again.

When he let her breathe again she asked, "Why are we here?"

"The age old question. My theory is there _isn't_ really a reason per se."

"Why are we here," she kissed him, "at my," she kissed him, "apartment," she kissed him.

_Because Wilson confiscated my illicitly-obtained copy of your private journal._

"Because you don't have Tivo." He moved to kiss her again, but she held up a finger against his lips; raised a quizzical brow. "We go to my place, watch the Tivo…next thing I know you're asleep. You're meant to _make out_, not pass out."

She thought it suspicious, but let it slide. The idea of making out with him was too appealing to question. She took his hand and led him to the bed.

They laid down fully-clothed and continued where they left off in the kitchen. It was their first time doing this together—neither could remember the last time they'd necked with anyone period. She straddled his hips: denim against denim. Hands groped through fabric, as if they have never been allowed to touch more intimately than this. There is something sexy about the innocence of it.

Cameron paused; stared at him. She ran one finger down the side of his face.

He asked her, "Penny for your thoughts."

Now her eyes flicked to meet his. "You know the rules to that game?"

"Tell me."

She sighed. "When one player says to another, 'Penny for your thoughts,' he or she has to tell _exactly_ what they were thinking at that moment. You can't lie, and you can't be evasive. The only out is, you can answer, 'it's private,' for any reason. So we can ask each other, 'what's on your mind, what are you thinking about,' and then lie. But if you hear, 'Penny for your thoughts,' you have to tell the truth. Or not tell."

"How long does it last?"

"Forever."

"Done. So what were you thinking when I asked you?"

She looked away. "Clever boy." She had thought she'd distracted him. She ran her finger down his face again. "I was touching you like this…"

"Mm hmm." He nodded slightly

"And I was thinking, 'you are **so** beautiful.' And then I thought of the last time I said that. And then you said penny for your thoughts." She pressed her lips together and hoped she wouldn't cry again.

It was what he'd wanted to hear her say, unconsciously. Seeing her hurt made him feel like she was _his_ to hurt if he wanted. He felt a rush to see her emotions for him so evident, but disgust that he had used her so. He wanted to make it up to her. "You aren't going to ask me?"

"I always know what you're thinking," she said smugly. This attempt to lighten the mood would have been successful if he'd wanted it lightened.

"But wouldn't it be nice to hear out loud?"

Cameron's heart raced; she felt her pulse all over her body. "Penny for your thoughts."

"It's kind of twisted…" She waited for him to continue. "I was thinking that unconciously I hurt you because I only _could_ hurt you if you loved me. Responds to painful stimuli."

Cameron slid off him to lay against his side, her head on his chest, arm wrapped at his waist. She took two deep breaths. "I do love you."

He ran his fingers through her hair, caressed her neck. "I know."

They laid in silence for a while, holding each other. Finally she said, "You know what—this is a good thing." She looked up at him and smiled. "Now I can say it whenever I want."

Her head bobbed in concert with his gentle laugh. "Within reason."

She snuggled against him. "I love you," she whispered in a sigh.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later he was sure she was asleep, and slipped out of her arms. He padded into the living room, and took the journal off the shelf.

He opened it to the first page, and read:

--

This is the story of You and Me.

--

He slammed the cover shut; closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. The story of her relationship with her husband—it probably contained her motivations, her concerns…her everything. He was being handed the solution manual.

_Tempting._

He put the book back on the shelf. If you cheat at solitaire, you're only cheating yourself.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TBC


	21. Close Your Eyes

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** Warning, the following is very naughty indeed.

For NaiveEve, who said, "Nothing is too graphic for me," which sounded like a challenge.

---------------------------------------------------------------

**21**

House walked into the living room while Cameron packed clothes for the next day from her closet. With the journal behind him, there was no reason to avoid the comforts of home. She preferred his place too.

Cameron came out with a small bag. To avoid his worrying she was taking the place over she brought only clothes enough for tomorrow.

"All set?" he asked.

She reached out and took **it **off the bookshelf and slipped it into her bag. "All set."

He hoped his shock was well-concealed. Either he was dead wrong about the contents of the journal, or something even stranger was going on.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

As they entered House's apartment he said, "It's OC night…"

She knew that this tone indicated she was free to veto the selection. However, she had detected his OC jones throughout dinner, and was in no mood to deny him. "I think I'll take a bath."

"I'm sure that's more interesting: I'll watch that."

She kissed him on the cheek. "You watch the OC."

She left him there, and he stood motionless until he heard running water. Then he walked straight to her bag and pulled out the offending document.

-

_The Story of You and Me_

-

He turned the page.

-

_Today you asked me if I like monster trucks and I realized I like you_.

-

He slammed it closed. '_Holy shit_.' He opened it again.

_-_

_Today you asked me if I like monster trucks and I realized I like you._

_I like you._

_And I asked you —like a date?— and you said, "Yeah, except for the date part," and I bought this journal._

_I think you like me._

_I can't believe I never noticed that I like you. You are so beautiful—and witty and clever and wise—which all mean "smart" but are not the same and nobody is all three._

_I asked you —like a date?— and I wanted you to say yes. And now I feel ridiculous because if I hadn't asked it would have been a date and I've spoiled everything. But I couldn't help myself: you steal my impulse control._

_If you had said, "do you like threesomes?" I would have said, "like a date?"_

_I wonder if you actually like threesomes._

_I wonder what you like._

_I wonder if you like me._

_I spent the rest of the day mentally whipping myself for asking that. I stopped off after work to buy this, but before I could write in it:_

_As soon as I got in the door my hand was down my pants—thinking of you. Picturing your blue eyes when you asked me if I like monster trucks. Replaying it in my mind._

"_Like a date?"_

"_Yeah,"_

_(In the fantasy you stop at 'yeah' and I come all over my hand.)_

-

He closed the book. '_Holy shit._' He flipped through…pages and pages—no dates. Was it all like that? He flipped to a random page.

_-_

_Have you ever had a crush on someone you work with?_

_Today I caught myself just in time, reaching out to touch your hair._

_Foreman saw. _

_I reached out, noticed what I was doing, and slammed my hand down to my side. _

_It must have been obvious when you looked at me that something had happened, because you looked at me intensely and asked me what I'd eaten for lunch._

_Someday I'd like to eat you for lunch._

-

Almost without pausing, he flipped to another random page nearer the end.

_-_

_Today you saved someone's life. (Again.) Any other day. Ordinary._

_Today you gave me the most spectacular sex of my life._

_My life so far. I have a feeling I haven't seen your 'A' game yet. Scary thought._

_We were just getting started and you said the sexiest thing: "Close your eyes."_

_I like when you tell me what to do—gently like that—like there's no doubt in your mind that I'm yours body and soul to do with as you please._

_(I am.)_

_So I closed my eyes, and you weren't touching me. (Yet.) _

_I couldn't see you or hear you; it was perfectly quiet except I could hear my own breathing. Which sounded incredibly loud in the silence._

_Then I felt your breath on me, between my legs. Enough to make my hair move. Torturous._

_Usually you tease me for a while, but tonight you went straight for my clit. So good it was uncomfortable. I started to slide back on the mattress, away, but you grabbed my hips to hold me still._

_If I'm doing myself and I feel that feeling—too much stimulation to the point where it almost hurts and I taste adrenaline—I back off._

_But you didn't and I have never come that hard before._

_When I came you backed off, for a moment, but before I was recovered AT ALL you were sucking hard on my clit again._

_I said, "No."_

_But I was wrong._

_You must have heard me (it was LOUD) and ignored me. I came again, harder. _

_Then you slid up to kiss me, and I could taste myself in your mouth which was so hot. I licked your face off, stubble scratching my tongue. _

_Then you fucked me. Hard._

_(You know how I like it.)_

_You had told me to close my eyes, and I never opened them. _

_While you were fucking me, I closed my eyes tight because it feels so much more intense when it's totally black. Still some residual light seeps in and I want to cover my eyes with my hand while you screw me. But I worry what you'll think it means._

_Everything's a symptom._

_(When I do myself:_

_One hand on the vibrator, one hand over my eyes. And I yell your name.)_

_You were fucking me so hard and I wanted to tell you, "you're the best I've ever fucking had!" But you might find it cliché, so I hold it in. I don't know how you do that—fuck me that hard. Of course I came again during. Twice._

_Afterwards you lay next to me and immediately reached down to touch me. You know how you always do. But I had to grab your wrist and stop you. It was too much._

_I crossed my ankles and squeezed my thighs together. Flexed. I came again. Just from pressure and afterglow._

_I've never had that happen before or since—orgasm without anything touching me._

_-_

House looked around nervously. His breath was coming fast, pulse racing. He was painfully hard. He heard the tub start to drain, and quickly returned the journal to her bag.

He walked to the bathroom door and knocked with his cane.

"Come in."

He opened the door. Cameron's hair was in a towel, and one foot rested on the edge of the tub so she could finish drying off her leg.

She threw the towel over the rod, and he approached her. He took away her towel, leaving damp hair clinging to her skin. He took her in his arms and kissed her collarbone.

"How was the OC?"

He paused only long enough to say, "You taste like soap."

"Oh yeah?"

He mmm'ed against her skin. "You're delicious." He reached behind her and turned the knob of the second door, leading into the bedroom. He licked her lower lip, slipped his tongue in to kiss her ardently. His right fingers moved to knead her outer lips against her clit, making her gasp. In this way he herded her into the bedroom, flicking off the lights as he walked. "Lie down."

He quickly stripped. Cameron was on her back, and he moved between her thighs so he could resume their kiss. Large, warm hands roved over cool, pale skin. He opened his eyes to watch her expression. Normally they made love with at least a lamp on: there could never be enough of seeing her. But not tonight. He could barely make out the slight pinch of her brow furrowing.

He broke the kiss. "Cameron."

She gave him her wide-eyed, expectant look. "House."

"Close your eyes."

Her lids lowered obediently, and he detected the subtle signs of her heightened arousal. Her respiration was faster and deeper. Goosebumps rose on her skin; nipples hardened; she was flushed. She trembled beneath him.

He traced two fingers across her jaw line and down her neck, between her breasts and lower, to circle her navel and then dip between her folds. She writhed under his touch.

"Cameron, you're wet," he said flirtatiously. He slid the fingers inside her, drawing a gasp. He lowered his mouth to her clit, and massaged it with his lips. He worked it vigorously with his tongue. She was arcing of the bed, moaning loudly.

"Gently," she said.

He paused only long enough to mumble, "No." As he licked and sucked her legs thrashed, but he held tight to her waist.

Her fingers clutched his hair, but she was pressing, not pulling him away. She voiced her mounting gratification—she had never been so loud. She came, flooding his mouth and yelling, "House."

With hardly a pause, he crawled up and sank into her, forcing her mouth open with a rough kiss. He braced his weight firmly between his left knee and right arm. With his right hand he guided her leg up to wrap around his waist. She brought the other up as well and locked her ankles behind his back. She rocked up to meet each thrust.

She was squinting and biting down. _'She's close.'_

He lifted his right hand to cover her eyes, and she let loose a little cry, "Ah!" He held his hand their as she twisted and wriggled under his grasp. "Oh, fuck! Fuck!" He felt her ripple and spasm around his hard cock, it seemed to go on and on. "House," it sounded like begging. "Ah, ah. Ungh!" Her body, slippery with sweat, convulsed. His hand was still on her face, and he slipped the tip of his thumb into her mouth. Seeing her suck and bite it as she came triggered House to snarl, "Cameron," and shoot hard into her.

They remained locked together a moment, recovering. He lifted his hand to reveal closed eyes. "Cameron."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at him, breathing hard through her mouth. "Cameron, you're the best I've ever had."


	22. Had a Bad Day

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** I don't know if you can excuse the long break since the last chapter. Just try to think how hard it is to write a light-hearted fic like this with what's been going on in canon rolling around one's brain.

Dedicated to my darlings KateJ and NaiveEve for being pushy about wanting more.

Inspired by and written expressly with Mikki13 in mind. "Mikki's having a really crappy day and you just have to cheer her up. And the only thing that will cheer her up is smut…"

**22**

Cameron walked in to his office to find him playing his video game. She stood before the desk silently. Thirty full seconds ticked by—he did not look up.

Her eyes flicked left, then right. In a display of feigned drama, she let her knees bend and collapsed to lay on the floor.

"Tough day?"

She answered from the floor, "Tough day." She sighed heavily.

"You know what you need?" Out of sight on the floor, she shook her head strongly from side to side. He tucked the video game into his desk, reached for his backpack, and walked to the door. "I can't carry you. You need a gurney?"

She scrambled to her feet and followed him out.

oOoOo

On the way to his flat, he turned into the McDonalds drive through. "What'll it be, tough day?"

"Asian salad, grilled." He rolled his eyes.

He pulled forward to order. "Two double quarter pounders, double bacon on each, two large fries, and two cokes. Full-sugar cokes."

As he handed her the bag, she said, "You got my order wrong."

"No, you got your order wrong. That order was pathetic." He pulled into a parking space.

"You can't get your order wrong!"

"You just said that _I_ got your order wrong."

She sighed exasperatedly.

"Tell me you wanted the salad more than the cheeseburger, and I'll go through again."

She looked down at the piping hot, delicious smelling bag in her lap. "You win."

"Of course. Now, open it up. When you have a bad day, you have to eat greasy food in the car."

She handed him out a sandwich. "Why in the car?"

"If you wait, the fries get cold."

"I can't eat all this."

"Do your best. I won't judge you if you can't finish. At least, not to your face."

oOoOo

He opened the door and let her enter first. "Run a shower, I'll be there in a minute."

"I'm running _you_ a shower?"

"Do you know what you need?"

She dropped her head and giggled.

"I didn't think so. Do as you're told; I'll be right there."

oOoOo

When he joined her in the bathroom, she was sitting fully clothed on the closed toilet, the water running in the shower. He began to take his clothes off. When he had finished, he took her hands and pulled her up to stand.

He unbuttoned and removed her clothes a piece at a time, and slowly folded each piece into a tidy pile. At one point she reached out to touch him, but he caught her wrist, shook his head. "_My_ day was a cake walk." He nodded his head to indicate she enter the shower.

He positioned her under the spray, and massaged shampoo into her her hair. She couldn't remember anyone ever doing this for her, outside the clinical setting of the salon. She closed her eyes, and found herself pressing her head against his fingers, like a cat begging to be pet.

After rinsing her shampoo and applying conditioner, he continued the massage with soapy hands, rubbing the tension from her neck, her shoulders, her back—thoroughly, but chastely. Her arms and legs got similar treatment. When he washed "the rest of her" quickly with soap and pulled down the shower head to rinse her, she was fairly disappointed it was all coming to such a…platonic...end.

Two fingers under her chin tipped her head back, and he rinsed the conditioner from her hair. Then he posed her: one knee bent to allow her foot to rest on the tub edge, palms flat against the shower wall. Beginning at her neck he rinsed the soap.

He stepped closer, so she could feel his chest press against her back. Now she was supporting some of his weight, so she was grateful for the stable position she was in. His left hand snaked down her abdomen, then spread her lips apart as his right brought the shower head between her legs, causing her to gasp.

"Good?"

She moaned, "Uh. Uh huh." She began to squirm slightly, adjusting the angle of her body against the spray until just perfect.

He lowered his head to kiss her neck, her shoulder. In only a couple minutes her shaking escalated to spasms as she came.

Out of the shower now, he wrapped her hair in a towel and bundled her into his terry cloth robe. He lifted her up to sit on the edge of the counter, then rummaged through the drawers between her knees.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Well I thought I had—ah." He revealed a bottle of store-brand Vitamin E lotion. He slipped the robe off her arms, then started with her left hand, and rubbed it in up to the shoulder. Next her right. A sharp contrast to the shower, now her front got special attention. As his thumbs circled her nipples, he said, "You are going to have _very_ moisturized breasts."

She threw back her head and laughed unrestrainedly, his favorite of her laughs and the least often heard.

"Feeling better?"

She pretended to think this over. "Well…"

He rolled his eyes, and reached for more lotion. "That's fine. Make me work for it." He reached for her left foot and kneaded white cream into her skin. These ministrations continued up her calf, up her thigh. She wiggled in anticipation. He looked her in the eye, raised his eyebrows, and….went for the right foot.

"You're such a tease," she moaned.

He quickened his pace up this leg, he had already reached her knee. "So you were faking in the shower?"

"You know what I mean."

"Always impatient. He took a last aliquot of lotion , spread her knees, and stepped closer to reach around her and rub it into her back.

"I need you to fuck me."

Without pause he entered her with a grunt. "Took you long enough to figure it out."

She curled her legs to lock around his waist, clung onto him tightly with her arms. "Harder."

He laughed. "You're slippery." He gripped her waist tightly and gave it to her with quick, deep strokes, their wet skin meeting in gratuitous loud slaps.

"Oh!" Her head fell back and she felt she was made of jelly as she came again. "This is like porn."

"This is better than—you watch porn? Ungh." At the thought he lost it and came massively inside her. He lifted the robe up and slipped her arms back into the sleeves. He asked her, "How was your day?"

"Pretty fucking great."


	23. Deal

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note: **For my darling NaiveEve. As per our deal.

**23**

As usual, he crept back to the living room the moment she was asleep.

Jonesing.

He sat at the piano bench to read, so that if she should come out, the bulky instrument would give him enough time to hide _it_ amongst the sheet music. The possibility that he might get caught added slightly to the thrill of it—something dangerous.

But the journal was well worth anything she'd do if she caught him.

An entry from _before--_they were often best.

_Ugh. I am such a fool for you. Full on, Cardigans-style_ Love Fool

_I'm afraid you were being quite the asshole today; ordering me to do some dangerous test. Cuddy stopped me in the hall to ask me why I was going along with it and I swear I almost said, "Because he's wearing the red shirt today."_

_I caught it in time though. "Because he's…House."_

_I don't think that excuse is going to fly forever. You are a bit too much for me in the red t-shirt. Thank god for days like today when you have a Rueben for lunch and the smell of sauerkraut deters me from sexually assaulting you. _

_And obviously the useful/helpful strategy is getting me nowhere because I doubt you've even noticed that I'm the only one on your side. Insolent ass._

House chortled, then reminded himself to be stealthy. '_Note: red shirt has special powers.'_ He turned the page.

_I'm still looking for a new strategy for getting your attention; what is it going to fucking take? _

_It would really help me if you would ask me on a date._

_Anyway. Moving on._

_At lunch today I read this article, and I had to laugh because these are the kind of strategies the other girls are employing. Make sure you read it with a vapid tone of voice:_

Here are some suggestions to encourage him to share his feelings: Feed him a good meal with a little wine and he will open up. Take a walk together in a beautiful, natural setting filled with positive energy. Avoid statements like, "You don't love me anymore," when what you really mean is, "I don't understand your style of loving me because it is so different from mine."

_And it went on with more crap like 'laugh hard when he tells a joke.' Please. How it would go:_

Me: Dr. House, would you perhaps like to walk together in a beautiful, natural setting filled with positive energy? Afterwards maybe I could feed you a good meal with a little wine.

_You: Have you taken something? Let me check your pupils._

_Me: laughs hard to show my interest and support. I don't understand your style of loving me because it's so different from mine._

This time he had to physically cover his mouth to keep from laughing loud enough to wake her. This was great stuff, but he had to find a juicy part. He flipped through until a line caught his eye.

_I had the most vivid erotic dream about you just now, and I have to write it down before I forget it._

_I was in the lab doing some test and you came up behind me like you always do, and I knew you were there. Then all of the sudden your hands reached out and started pulling my shirt untucked from my pants._

_I and I remember thinking, 'It's happening!' Isn't that funny. You don't know at the time it's a dream._

_So you had your hands under my shirt, undid my bra. Then you know how dreams are—the next thing I knew my pants were around my ankles and my blouse was open, and you were bending me over the countertop, taking me from behind in the lab. _

_It's fuzzy now. But it must have been good because I woke up with my hand between my legs. Now I'll be thinking of that every time I run a test._

House closed his eyes and pictured the scene: him with just his jeans open standing behind her, almost naked. The glass walls, anyone could come by. He was already hard.

He replaced the journal in her bag and returned to the bedroom.

He climbed under the covers and snuggled up to her. She might be dreaming of him even now. He whispered, "Cameron." He shook her. "Cameron, wake up."

Her eyes closed, she mumbled sleepily, "What."

"Wake up, we have to have sex now."

"We've just had sex. Go back to sleep."

He shook her again. "You know you want it."

There was a pause. "Fine. But you better do all the work."

"Deal." He moved over her and lowered his head to press his lips against hers in a lingering, sensual kiss.

She moaned, "Please," and he slid into her, still wet from their prior exertions.

He watched her as he pumped into her, slightly furrowed brow, closed eyes, moist, parted lips. She was panting tiny moans of "ungh."

"Cameron."

"Yes…yes."

He couldn't help but smile at that. "Cameron, do you ever think about us having sex at work?"

"God, yes. Oh." She was clearly waking up a bit, as she moved her hands up to grip his hips. "Think at work about fucking or think about fucking at work?"

"Do you?" Hearing her say "fucking" always did it to him and wrapped his arms so he could grip her shoulders from below, push harder.

"I think about us having sex _while _I'm at work. Oh, god." He felt her body grip his cock and her nails grip his skin as she came. "And I think about doing it _at_ work. And while we're at work I think about doing it there." Finally she opened her eyes to ask him, "Which did you mean?"

She gasped as her thrust in hard, shaking as he came. "It's all good stuff," he answered.

He flopped over, and she rested her head on his chest. "If you wake up again, you're on your own."

Her head rose and fall with his laughing. "Deal."


	24. Sick Day

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone who reads my stories, especially those who leave comments. Which, in combination with the occasional glass of water, are all I need to survive. Mmm. Comments.

For NaiveEve, because it's always for you, and Mikki13, because she could fucking use it. Feel better sweetness.

**24**

Cuddy played the two messages again.

_Good morning, Dr. Cuddy. I'm going to be taking a personal day today. We don't have a patient, so there shouldn't be a problem, and I of course told the team that they can page me if they need me. Have a nice day. _

_I'm too sick to work. If you want to see me, you can tuck those tits into a nurse costume and come over. _

Something seemed off. Clearly House _was_ sick. You could hear that in his voice as much as in his perverted nurse comment. But Cameron…

If there was something to know, Wilson would know it. She left for his office.

-----------------------

"I'm not eating. I can't swallow."

Cameron carried the tray into the bedroom and placed it over him. "There's no food on the tray."

He looked up at her. "You're ridiculous. What is all this?"

She pointed at each item. "Water, orange juice, hot tea, hot water with lemon and honey. _Vicodin_, for fever and _cough suppression_, (he took these immediately) multi-vitamin, Pseudoephedrine for congestion, and Guaifenesin. For, you know."

"Coughing up snot the rest of the day. Lovely." He sat up to swallow the remaining pills with water, then flopped back onto the pillows.

She gathered crumpled Kleenex from all over the bed. "Drink more."

He grumbled, but inserted the flexi-straw from the tray into the hot lemonade and sipped. He would have liked to mock her beverage buffet, but he couldn't. He put this weakness down to his fragile state. Couldn't possibly be that it was the sweetest thing he had ever seen. He drained the cup, and moved the flexi-straw to the tea. '_Hmm. Also good.'_ He lay back again.

"Now I'm going to vapo-rub you."

"I'm for all of that except the 'vapo' part."

She opened the jar. "Haven't you seen the vapo-rub episode of Friends? Things got sexual…" She waggled the jar enticingly.

He closed his eyes and shook his head petulantly. "No."

She set the jar on his tray. "I'll make you a deal." She pulled her tank top over her head. "I'll do me first." She scooped a dollop out and locked eyes with him, then massaged it into her skin.

She moved the tray out of the way and sat on the edge of the bed, still shirtless. "Your turn."

She slipped her hand up under his t-shirt and rubbed, while he ogled her. "You know you're going to have to be topless every time, right?"

"You know I just learned how to get anything I want from you, right?"

He laughed. "Fuck."

-----------------------

Cuddy swung his door open imperiously. "You know something. Spill."

Wilson sighed. "What."

"House is sick, and Cameron took a personal day…"

"And you think there might be a connection." He rubbed his forehead.

She sat down across from him. "Is there?"

"Yeah."

---------------------

House woke up alone. "Where are you?!"

After a moment she appeared in the doorway with her tray again. "I was making soup."

"Your top is back on," he pouted.

She laughed as she lowered the tray. She bent down to kiss his forehead. "No fever. How do you feel?"

"Miserable."

"The medicine helped though?"

He made a non-committal noise. Of course it had helped, but he was by no means well and certainly un-willing to give up any of this attention. He stirred the soup. "This isn't from a can."

"It's not."

He tasted it. "You made this?"

She gathered the remotes and climbed into bed. "I did."

He took a bigger bite. "Out of…a chicken."

She laughed as she commanded Tivo to play him General Hospital. "Yes."

He wolfed down the soup, and tried to pay attention to the soap. But his eyelids were heavy. When he drifted off again, his last thought was, "No one ever made me soup before."

--------------------

"How long have you known?"

Wilson just shook his head. "I plead the fifth."

"Well what am I going to do."

Wilson cocked his head to the side. "I'm surprised. Last time you were so gung ho about them dating."

Cuddy sighed. "Well Dr. Cameron has since shown herself to be invaluable. I hate to lose her."

"What makes you think you'll lose her?"

"If she leaves House there'll be no peace in this hospital until she's gone."

Wilson laughed, because it was exactly what he'd worried about, back then. "I don't see her leaving. I think there's nothing to worry about. If anything he's been more tractable."

Cuddy stood up to leave. "We'll see."

-------------------

This time he woke up to her setting the tray down again. He surveyed it, then started popping pills. "What happened to the orange juice?" 

"You didn't touch it last time."

Like a five year-old he was taking sips from the cups by lifting the flexi-straw from one to the next with his mouth. He let the straw rest in the tea. "Beverage buffet needs orange juice."

"Beverage buffet?"

"That's what I call it." He continued to drink until the tea, lemonade, and half the water was gone, as she looked on in approval. She then set the tray aside.

"You need some entertainment. What do you want, video games, movie, music…?"

He patted the blankets next to him, and she cuddled up against his side.

"I feel better."

"That's wonderful news. So, work tomorrow them?"

His chin fell to his chest. "I don't wanna."

"Tough."

"No one ever…" He sighed. "Thank you for today."

Cameron kissed his chest. "You're welcome."

"You've got the…ah…nurture…what not. I suppose you look forward to lavishing that on some miniature Cameron look-alikes?"

"Nah."

"No?"

"Well. You can always change your mind later. But it's a bit of demanding career, and it doesn't seem fair to the kid. I'm not opposed, per se. I'm just not…gagging for it."

"Right."

"You're surprised, huh."

"You brought me a straw for hot tea, it seemed a maternal gesture."

"I brought you a straw for orange juice."

"I see."

"And what about the sensual vapo-massage?"

He kissed the top of her head. "Very effective negotiating tactic."

She snuggled closer and closed her eyes. She murmured sleepily, "One day we'll be at the whiteboard, and you won't let me have a test I want, and all I have to do is whip off my shirt, right in front of Chase and Foreman…you can't deny me anything."

"The threat of showing Chase and Foreman what you've got under there is all it'd take."

She didn't answer. He looked down at her, it seemed she had fallen asleep. "Cameron. Are you awake?" No reply, but he wanted to test and be certain. "Cameron, did I ever tell you about the time I made out with Wilson?" Oh, she was asleep all right—not a flinch.

"Cameron. I love you."


	25. At Work

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** Thank you as ever for reading my story and leaving comments, which are a thrill beyond compare. For example, if KateJ hadn't said over and over this story should never end, it definitely would have by now.

**25**

Wilson entered and pulled up a chair at the foot of the bed. "What are you doing in here?"

House looked from the TV, to the Doritos bag, to Stan, as if it should all be perfectly obvious. "No one understands us, Stan."

"This might be the wrong day to be messing around in the coma wing. Cuddy came to see me yesterday."

House popped another chip nonchalantly. "I was legitimately sick. I have a doctor's note."

"That's exactly what I mean. Cuddy's not an idiot. You've been…different lately, Cameron taking a personal day…"

"It was completely professional. No Robitussin body shots."

Wilson shook his head. "She knows."

"Hmm." House extended the bag to Stan, then shrugged. "No? More for me. How did she take it?"

"She seemed concerned."

"Concerned I can manage." He tossed a chip into the air and caught it agilely in his mouth. "Thanks for the heads up."

"So how are things with Cameron? If you're still together, you must not have read the journal." House's expressive face momentarily betrayed him. "You did! You asshole."

"I think she intends for me to read it."

"What the fuck gave you that idea?" House didn't reply, and Wilson shook his head in disgust. "You want to get caught. So she can hate you and you can get out of this, or better yet, so you can be sure she'll always be around no matter how bad you fuck things up."

"You should be on TV. You're prettier than Dr. Phil, but just as pedantic."

"There's no helping you."

House smiled. "Don't be sore, have a chip." He extended the bag, and Wilson took one gingerly. "I'm not going to fuck this up. I know what I'm doing."

Wilson snorted. 

House raised an eyebrow. "You don't believe me?"

"You already have fucked this up, and you have no clue what you're doing."

House tipped the near empty bag to his mouth to collect the crumbs, chomped noisily. "I'll tell you what. If Cameron leaves me, you can marry her, show me how it's done."

"Don't think I won't." House gave Wilson a dangerous look. "Oh, you've got it bad. You love her!"

House ran a weary hand over his face. "Yeah," he admitted.

-----------------------------------------------

When Cuddy found her, Cameron was preparing slides in the lab. She asked, "How did it go yesterday?"

"Hmm?" Cameron thought her best chance was to volunteer as little as possible.

"_House_ call." Cameron met her eyes; there was no point trying to be deceptive now. "He's not an easy patient," Cuddy continued.

"He didn't give me any trouble," Cameron answered steadily.

"Didn't he? I guess I'm looking for some reassurance that this isn't some short-lived fling."

She looked aside. "I can't speak for House—"

Cuddy shook her head. "If I was worried about House, I'd be talking to him. Addicts don't break up with their drug."

Cameron's eyes widened at this. "I'm um—it's not a fling."

"Then we don't have a problem. Just keep it out of the hospital, right?"

-----------------

Late that evening, House found Cameron at her desk. "Where have you been all day?"

She laughed. "Working. I work here."

"Exactly, come on. We need to go to the MRI lab." House turned and walked determinedly out of the room, and she put away her work and scrambled after him, meeting him in the elevator.

"We don't have a patient," she said as he pushed the appropriate button with his cane.

"Shh." He cocked his head to indicate the other passenger in the elevator—a janitor. The elevator opened on their floor. House took her hand in his and pulled her out of the elevator, toward the control room door. He locked it behind them.

"What are we doing in the MRI lab with no patient?" she asked.

House sat down. "It's more romantic if it's just the two of us. Come sit on my lap." He started to unfasten his belt.

Cameron leaned against the control desk. Skeptically, she watched him open his pants. "Cuddy said to keep it out of the hospital."

"You talked to Cuddy?" He rolled the chair over to her and caressed her inner thigh. Cameron didn't answer, merely stared at the point where her skirt ended and his arm began. "What did she say?"

"Not to leave you."

"Okay," he said as he grasped the crotch of her panties and pulled them down. "So don't leave me—unsatisfied in the MRI lab." He slipped his thumb into her, then pressed it to her clit in slippery circles.

Her eyes closed and her breath caught; he always got his way. "That's not what she meant." But she kicked her panties off one ankle so she could spread her legs to stand over his lap. She licked her hand, gripped his cock in her hand and pumped a few times, causing him to groan, to reach for her hips and roughly pull her closer as she guided him inside her. They locked eyes.

Cameron reached down and pulled the lever of the chair, causing it to suddenly drop them nearer the floor, so she her feet could touch. At the jar to his thigh House sucked in a deep breathe through gritted teeth, but they both studiously ignored this. Cameron bounced on his lap, grinding to rub her clit against him with each thrust; his hands clutching her skirt at her hips.

"Have you pictured us in here before," House breathed.

Cameron moaned, "Mhmm," and moved faster, lifting off him less far and pressing herself harder against him.

His hand rose to the back of her neck and he crushed her mouth to his for a penetrating kiss. He asked, "Like this?"

Cameron gasped, she was so close and she found his request for details extremely erotic. She shook her head and tried to answer, but all she got out was, "The other way…hands…"

House shoved her off his lap and spun her so fast she hardly had time to register disappointment at the lack of contact before he pulled her back down. "Like this," he whispered behind her ear as he worked the pads of his fingers between her legs.

"Oh, fuck!" she said as she doubled forward, spasming around him. He pushed her the rest of the way forward to lean against the desk as he rose to ram into her, managing only ten more strokes before sighing, "Cameron," as he came, then fell back into the chair heavily.

Cameron was grinning when she turned to face him, smoothing her skirt. She bent to pick up the skimpy piece of blue satin. House watched her, she was clearly uncertain what to do with them. When he had finished straightening his clothes he took them from her and stuffed them in his jeans pocket. "We need to stop off and get you some clean clothes on the way," he said. 

As then walked out of the lab House again took her hand, and she congratulated herself on the fact that their spending the rest of the evening together was as much a forgone conclusion in his mind as it was in hers.


	26. The End of a Routine

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note: **See how powerful comments are? I already updated again. Comments, I'm in love with you. Seriously though, thank you for them. Happy Valentine's Day.

Houseketeer: I told the comments that I love them.

Therapist: Did you mean it?

Houseketeer: I don't know. I think I just said it to get into their pants.

**26**

As per their routine, they stopped at Cameron's apartment so she could exchange yesterday's clothes for tomorrow's. House privately found the whole thing a bit ridiculous and wondered why she didn't pack more—lots more. He certainly would. He waited by her front door, ran his eyes over the same things he ran them over every time. Her framed photos, her orderly rows of books, that hideous lamp monstrosity. The painting above her sofa that would look good in the corner by his piano.

Cameron came out carrying her overnight bag, and pulled from it her journal. She replaced it on the bookshelf. Typically, her arrival in the living room was his cue to ask, 'All set?' but he just stared silently at the spine of the book.

She waited, then skipped his part of the ritual. "All set," she said, and his head snapped up.

"Right. You're sure you…have everything?"

Cameron laughed, then furrowed her brow in confusion. "Yeah, I'm all set."

"Then, then…we'll go."

Cameron shook her head and led the way out of the apartment.

oOoOo

As they entered the house, he tossed her his wallet and asked, "Could you order some food?" and flipped on the television. She collected the cordless phone and the menus and joined him on the sofa.

She flipped through the pile of annotated take-out fliers on her lap. She paused on the Mahrani menu, and ran her finger over the mark he made next to his circle around Tandoori Chicken: 'Cam.' Their first take out. Her pulse quickened with happiness and she looked up at him, but his attention was on the screen.

The next menu in the pile was Cossetta's, and she was concerned to see a new bold X through Pasta Carbonara; it was the first thing she'd ever made him. "You don't like carbonara?"

He again didn't turn to face her but replied, "I ordered it because I like yours, but theirs is shit."

Cameron blushed. She tried to stop herself feeling that the menus were a love sonnet he'd composed for her. '_Don't be such a chic._' It seemed he had switched for the most part to cataloging _her_ preferences. 'Cam hated,' was written next to eggplant parmesan, despite the fact she'd tried to hide her displeasure with it. On China Garden's menu egg rolls had a slash through them with the note, 'shrimp—Cam." Then only a little way down the page was 'Cam!' next to Phoenix Chicken.

Sex, and hand-holding, and now menu-romance: it was all contributing to a desperate desire to make him as happy as he'd made her, and ordering the perfect thing felt compulsory.

"What do you think about pizza?"

"Fine."

No excitement in his voice; he hadn't even looked over. She was shooting for better than 'fine.' "Um, you liked the steak sandwiches. We could get that."

"Whatever." Now there was a slightly hard edge to his voice.

"Maybe fried rice would—"

His head snapped around, "Just—Cameron! Would you just **pick** something!"

He had already turned back to watch his show, and she stared at him open-mouthed. She dialed and ordered a pizza, and when she disconnected the call House's "Thank you!" had a very sarcastic bite.

"What's got into you," she asked levelly.

He turned off the show and tossed the remote aside. "Me? You're the one who can't even put together a take-out order." He threw himself to his feet and began to pace the living room.

"Seriously, are you off your meds or something?"

"No, _Mommy_."

She stared at him; that one stung. She believed him that he'd taken his Vicodin—there was no physical sign of detoxing, but he was so punchy. "Then what is bothering you?"

"So you can **fix** it?"

It felt like a smack to the face, reminding her of her most insecure moment with him: being rejected at their dinner date. Cameron sat with her thighs pulled close to her chest, her head resting on her knees. A second argument as loud as this one raged in her mind. '_If he loved you, he wouldn't hurt you. No, that's bullshit. He's testing you—he wouldn't bother if he didn't love you,' _and on and on. She wrapped her arms around her calves.

"Look, maybe you should go."

There was disturbing finality in his voice, and she heard, '_Maybe you should never come back,'_ instead. "No," she whispered.

"What?"

"No. You want to fight? Fine, let's fight. I'd rather spend the evening listening to you say you hate me than be apart."

House opened his mouth to snap back, but then sagged into a chair and looked at his hands. "I didn't say I hate you."

"It was hypothetical."

He looked at her: curled into a ball for defense. He'd caused that. Probably just like she said—he was off his meds; there'd be no journal fix tonight. Pushing her to leave (his worst fear was that she would) was like pressing on a bruise to see if it still hurt.

House moved to the couch and sat with his back against the arm, slipping his left leg up against the back of the couch behind her. "Come here," he said softly, and pulled her back to rest on his chest, enfolding her in his arms. He sighed. "I'm an asshole," he breathed into her hair.

It was the best apology she should reasonably expect from him. She gripped his arms where they crossed in front of her. "You're my asshole."

He laughed softly and kissed the back of her head, then just held her for a while. "You didn't leave," he whispered. It was the last they spoke until the pizza arrived.

oOoOo

After her shower, Cameron sat on the bed wrapped only in a towel, applying lotion.

House peeked in the doorway. "You used my razor to shave your legs." It was more a statement than a question.

"I can see how that's frustrating, but imagine how you'd feel if I _hadn't_ shaved." To illustrate her point, she moisturized a slender calf. "Besides, when's the last time you shaved? Never."

He sighed. "I want you to have more of your stuff here."

She looked up. "Like a drawer's worth? How much more?"

"All of it." She raised an eyebrow. "How much longer do you have on your lease?"

"It's month to month…" Cameron wasn't sure how she liked the idea of moving in with a man who hadn't even said, 'I love you,' much less expressed a desire for a long-term relationship. She hadn't given it much thought, but the idea that she had somewhere to go if he threw her out was rather comforting. "Are you sure about this? Things are going to change around here…"

He cut her off, apparently taking that as a tacit 'yes.' "Excellent. Get your own razor, and your own lotion: girlie-up the place. And your own shampoo—no one can equal me in shine and bounce. Tomorrow's Saturday. You can pack while Foreman and Chase move the furniture, and we'll get Wilson too."

"What?"

"He's stronger than he looks." Cameron continued to give him her puzzled stare. "I'm not much for carrying boxes. Cane?" He held it aloft, shaking it for emphasis. "I see myself in more of a supervisory role."

Cameron smiled as it all started to sink in. Of course she couldn't say no. "Okay."

"Okay. I'll call them." He left the room, then peeked his head back around the corner. "I do love you."

The corners of her mouth turned up, and she tried to play it cool. "I know."

He stepped out, and she continued her lotion ministrations for a moment. Then she realized what kind of phone conversations he was about to have, and reached for the cordless handset by his bed to listen in, her thumb pressed over the mouthpiece.

oOoOo

House stretched out on the couch. He felt the afterglow that comes from passing a particularly dreaded exam; it was all downhill from here.

He called Wilson first.

"Hello?"

"I took your advice, so I need you to help me move Cameron's stuff here tomorrow."

"Telling you 'you don't know what you're doing' was criticism, not advice. Wait, did you say you want to steal her stuff?"

"Cameron is moving in. Rent a truck and meet me at her apartment at nine."

"That's…what have you done?"

"You'll see tomorrow."

House rang off, and dialed Foreman.

Forman clearly had caller ID. "Yes?"

"Foreman, Cameron would like your help tomorrow moving."

"That's a bit sudden."

"Great, so we'll see you at nine at her place. Could you call Chase—I think it would seem a bit cruel, that news coming from me."

"What? Whatever. House, is Cameron there, can I speak to her?"

"She's tied to the bed: a little game we play on Fridays. Call Chase ok?"

House returned to the bedroom and found that Cameron had discarded the towel, and was lying on her stomach on the bed.

"And, you're naked." House started to strip down, pulling t-shirt and button down over his head together and dropping them in a heap.

"We play bondage on Fridays now?"

He kicked off his shoes and socks. "You listen at key holes now?"

"How could I? I was tied to the bed."

House pulled his belt from the loops in a dramatic flourish and tossed it across the room. "Maybe you escaped from your bonds, listened, and then snuck back to tie yourself up again. But wait! Where are the ropes?" He dropped the rest of his clothes to pool at his feet. He reached over to flip the light switch off, then padded back to the bed. Their bed.

She had turned onto her back, and he crawled over her. Without warning her right heel caught behind his left knee, and she flipped him on to his back, straddling his waist and pinning his hands behind his head. She bent to kiss him, gently pressing her lips against his lower one and sliding in her tongue. She ran her hands up his muscled arms to hold the sides of his stubbled face. She pulled away in a sigh, her fingers still splayed on his cheeks. "You know, I don't even know your favorite position," she said. She noticed his eyes flit away to the side, he didn't want to say. "Come on, spill it."

"It's not very romantic."

"Well we already had romantic sex today—no patient in the MRI lab."

He nudged her thigh so he could slip out from under her, then led her by her hips to crawl backwards until she was near crouching at the edge of the bed while he stood. She couldn't see him behind her, which added a bit to the thrill—she wasn't expecting it at all when she felt his tongue, his cheeks gently scraping her thighs. "Oh _god_ oh god oh god," she moaned. Next she felt his hand reach around as he inserted two fingers, then smeared them in strong circles around her clit; then the delicious pressure as he slid into her.

He paused there a moment, surveyed the creamy expanse of her back and felt her squeeze her muscles around him in silent encouragement. He gripped her hips, pulled out a bit, then shoved in hard, setting up a fast rhythm.

Cameron's words broke with the beat of his strokes, "O-oh fuck ye-es." It was the most athletic they'd ever had, and she delighted in it: the thwack as his thighs hit hers, the clench of her biceps and fingers to keep from sliding forward, the shallow penetration that hit her just right. Her toes curled and she felt the the burning tingle in the arch of her feet that told her she was about to come _hard_. But with nothing touching her clit she just hung there, tantalizingly, maddeningly close.

She was so hot; damp tendrils of hair clung to her face and she tossed her head reapeatedly trying to brush it away. Of course, nothing could be sexier to House but to see her reacting this way, skin slick with perspiration, reduced to nothing but nerve endings and oh_god_. She was too perfect for words.

Cameron gripped the bed coverings tightly with her left hand and lifted her right to touch herself. "Ungh, I'm gonna come."

"Me too." A few more pumps and he collapsed onto the her back, the rolled off and pulled her to rest agains his chest.

"It might be my favorite too," she whispered.

"I love you."


	27. Think of All the Rooms

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** Thank you to my readers, especially those who leave comments. The comments are the only reason this story continues. Thank you to maybebaby1280 for inspiration and to NaiveEve for being the best beta and best friend the world ever produced.

**27**

oOoOo

When the alarm rang, House dry swallowed two Vicodin and rolled over to shake Cameron. "Wake up."

"What time is it?"

He didn't stop shaking her. "Cameron, wake up. Hurry up and get dressed K?"

Instead she rolled over to view the clock. "Seven? They won't be there for _two hours._ Lemme sleep..."

"Cameron!" He pulled the covers off her into a heap on the floor, leaving her naked and shivering. 

She gave him an amused questioning look. "What's the hurry again?"

"They'll be there in two hours," he began. Then out the side of his mouth, "think of all the rooms of your apartment we haven't had sex in." He shook his head. "You're wasting a golden opportunity."

She scrambled up to dress. "Make the bed. I don't want them seeing what we did to it."

oOoOo

As soon as they were inside the door, House slammed it closed and pushed her up against it and kissed her hard and deep. He dropped to his left knee and pulled her draw string pants and thong down her creamy thighs.

Cameron was already panting. "What are you doing?"

House raised his eyebrows, then gripped her thighs tightly for balance and moved in to kiss her. He parted her with his tongue, and licked as deep between them as he could in this position.

"House," she whispered shakily. Her head tipped back against the door, and she grabbed the knob for support. "Oh, my god," she gasped. "What are you doing to me." She spread her knees, trying to make more room for him. He took advantage of this, darting his tongue into her tight entrance, alternating that with circles around her clit. "Oh, fuck. House. Ah!" She came, flooding his tongue. She sighed, "House," but before she could recover, before she had opened her eyes he was on his feet, pulling her into the living room by her wrist. She kicked off her shoes and pants as she followed him to the living room.

Now her head cleared a bit, and she said, "Take off your pants." He turned to face her with a wicked gleam in his eye. He didn't take his eyes off her as he slipped out of his shoes and socks, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. "Shirt too." He pulled the black tee over his head and was suddenly naked before her, waiting. "Lay on the floor."

House bent his left knee and sank to sit on the floor. '_He's so graceful_,' she thought. Cameron slipped out of her zip up, pulled her camisole tank top over her head as she advanced toward him. She lifted her leg, and pressed her foot to his chest, over his heart. "I said," she pushed him flat on his back, "lay down."

She stood over him, and looked down at him over the rise and fall of her breasts. He was hard; his chest rose and fell fast with his shallow breathing. She kneeled, straddling him. She felt his cock brushing her between her legs. She bent forward and massaged his shoulders. "I've never been naked in the living room before."

"You should always be naked in the living room; you're so gorgeous."

Hearing him talk about her like that was so rare and delicious, she shuddered. "More of that," she directed him. She rubbed herself with her palm to wet it, and his eyes went wide. She reached between her thighs and wrapped her fingers around him, stroked up and down a few times. He groaned. "More of that," she repeated.

"Oh, you're so good at that." She rubbed the head between her lips, rubbed it against her clit. "I...Cameron. God, you're so fucking sexy."

"Mmm. more." She slipped him into her, lowered herself inch by inch, two fingers working her own clit. "More."

"I love you," he moaned.

"Oh my god, I'm coming." Her muscles involuntarily gripped him inside her. 

"I love watching you come." He gripped her hips and closed his eyes; reveled in the sensation of her fluttering around him. Suddenly she began to rock above him, fucking him. It was so good, too good, watching her ride him. "Stop or I'll--"

Cameron abruptly stood up, then held out her hand to pull him to his feet. She handed him his discarded cane and stared at him: leaning on the cane, still hard and completely wet from fucking her. "I want you in the kitchen." 

He watched her traipse off, naked except for a shiny plastic patch on her hip. He followed her fast, caught up to her at the kitchen table. He pushed a chair aside, hard; it and its neighbor clattered to the floor as he bent her over the table and slipped into her from behind.

She loved the feel of it: her whole body pressed against the cold surface of the table, his hands gripping her tightly while he fucked her so hard. "Oh, god," she mumbled against the table. She pressed her face against her hands on the table, letting her other senses heighten. Feeling him fill her, hearing his breathing. She wanted to be closer. "Stop."

She turned and sat on the edge of the table, bending one knee so her foot too rested on the surface. She gestured him closer, so she could wrap her arms around him, cling to him while he fucked her deeper, harder. Her hand moved to his neck, crushing his face to hers for a kiss, which she broke just long enough to say, "Come for me." Then she was kissing him again, holding him tightly as her clasping muscles made him spurt hot come into her.

The paused in this position to catch their breaths, holding each other. He wiped her damp hair back from her face. She looked up at him. "We should get dressed, they'll be here soon." 

"Nonsense." He walked over to the kitchen counter and patted on it, and she hopped up. When he reached between her knees to get a spoon from the silverware drawer, she giggled. "Hold this," he said. Next he opened her freezer and pulled out the raspberry sorbet. "Fat free?" He shook his head. "There isn't enough left to be worth packing," he informed her as he opened the lid and took back the spoon.

He fed her a bite, and she smiled. "Yummy." Then he took a spoonful and pressed it against her clit without warning. She gasped and squirmed until he licked it away.

"Mmm, that's not bad."

He did it again, and again. He liked to wait to lick her clean until she couldn't take it and begged him, "Ah ah ah, House!" Another bite. "Let me come," she pleaded. It hardly took anything to bring her off, he slipped his fingers into her, curled them into her. He lowered his mouth and sucked on her clit, flicked his tongue against it and she started to shake, gripping his hair.

When she relaxed her grip, he looked up at her. "Good?"

She was still trembling. "Mhmm."

"You need a shower. You're all sticky."

While House turned on the shower, Cameron collected their scattered clothes and carried them to the bathroom.

They washed each other; hands sliding over slippery wet bodies, hot water beating down. When the soap had rinsed, Cameron noticed him beginning to get hard. She dropped to her knees, and felt the warm spray on her back as she took him in her mouth, his fingers tangling in her wet hair, pressing her to him.

"Oh, Cameron." He looked down, it was incredibly graphic: the water streaming down her face, his cock sliding between her lips. "Cameron..." When she knew he was so close, she pulled him from her mouth with a loud pop, and stroked him till he shot on her wet skin, then watched the shower sluice it off.

They turned off the water, and house had barely toweled off when he heard knocking at the front door. He dressed quickly, and kissed Cameron before going to answer.

At the door, Wilson took in House's bare feet and wet hair. "What did you guys sleep here last night?" He carried a bag containing breakfast into the kitchen. He set the bag on the table, righted the chairs, and shook his head. "You have it too good House."


	28. Moving Day

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:** Thank you for reading--especially those who leave comments: I love you.

Thank you to my best friend and favorite author NaiveEve and to my muse MaybeBaby1280. KateJ and rara8777 I thought of you while writing this, like I always do—I hope you like it.

**28**

_I don't want to wonder_

_If this is a blunder_

_I don't want worry_

_Whether we're going to_

_Stay together_

_Til we die._

-- **Cake**, _Love You Madly_

Most of Cameron's furniture was second-hand or Ikea crap. It would only be missed in the sense she was too much a realist to like her chances of never needing it again. As the volunteers breakfasted in the kitchen, she and House walked the apartment, deciding the fate of her belongings.

Chase looked incredulously between Foreman and Wilson. "So we're just going to let her do this."

Foreman shook his head. "What do you propose we do? 'Cameron, I know this is what you've always wanted. But: you're an idiot.' That'll work. Anyway, she's never been this happy."

Chase still looked like he wanted to do something, anything. Wilson piped in. "What are you worried about, really: that he'll break her heart? They're in love: that's inevitable now. Eventually they'll hurt each other. It's better than the alternative."

Chase took a sip of his coffee, then set the cup down. "A hundred says she moves out within a month."

Foreman shook his head; House was that much of an ass. Wilson smiled. "I'll take your money."

oOoOo

In the bedroom, House sat at the vanity's chair while Cameron flopped onto the bed. She was a bit tired of "No, I don't need to keep that," and had saved the bedroom last because she really hated to lose this furniture.

Meanwhile, House hated to lose the prospect of vanity-sex. His hand trailed along the table's edge. "Maybe we should make the study a guest room," he said.

Cameron leaned up on an elbow to see his face. "What?"

"I mean, eventually Jimmy is going to marry an idiot, cheat on said idiot, tell her—because the idiocy always rubs off on him, and get kicked out."

She sat up fully on the bed. "You don't need to give up your study for Wilson."

"Eventually I am going to say something to get me kicked out of bed with you, and my leg really can't take sleeping on the sofa."

She laughed, but then looked serious. It was actually a really great idea. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Come here." Cameron rose from the bed, and came to stand near him. He gently turned her against the vanity, a palm on her back lowering her to lean on it, while his other hand rested on her hip. He looked at her eyes in the mirror. "Familiar?"

She smiled. "Familiar."

"We will _never_ not own this table."

Involuntarily, her eyes closed and she sighed as she lowered her head to the table. A mention of forever from him—unexpected and almost more than she could handle. He rubbed her back. "So the bedroom set moves, that's all the decisions right?" Still with her face to the table, she nodded. "Okay, I'll supervise the lackeys while you box your stuff."

"Mhmm."

House left her, and after a moment she was able to begin packing.

oOoOo

Under the direction of House's pointing cane, the guys carried out Cameron's belongings, many of them to be piled for a charity truck to pick up at the end of the day. He himself did as little as possible: boxing the kitchen stuff, the books and DVDs. These activities were punctuated by frequent breaks on the sofa. For this reason, it was the last thing to go out. Chase and Foreman lifted it, and House tossed himself on, causing them to shift and juggle to keep hold. They considered their options with non-verbal communication that passed by in a matter of seconds.

Chase nodded sharply. '_Let's just drop him.'  
_

Forman shook his head. '_No.'_

Chase tilted his head to the side. '_Well let's at least tip him onto the floor!"_

Foreman jerked his head toward the door. _'We carry him out.'_

Chase glared. '_No way.'_

House indicated the door. "Move it out, let's go."

Chase's eyes widened. '_You can't seriously think…'_

Foreman just looked at him, '_You like your job?'_ and started to back out the door. Chase reluctantly followed.

This left Cameron and Wilson alone in the empty apartment. She looked around. "Wow, it's really…final."

Wilson watched her as her eyes traced the now empty walls. "Are you sure about this?"

She looked pensive for a moment—really thought about the question, which relieved him. "I'm sure."

"Well. I was sure three times."

She laughed. "I never said I was sure it will last forever. I think it's better if you worry it won't; think of it as something you could lose any minute. Then you really appreciate it."

"That's pretty…sad, actually."

Cameron shrugged. "We just look at it differently. You're seeing what I'm missing because it's not perfect, and I'm seeing what I'd be missing if I didn't have him at all."

He nodded, and felt his last worries about her and House fall away. Then, they were interrupted by Chase, House, and Foreman returning.

"Ok, phase one complete," he took Cameron in his arms and dipped her for a surprise kiss, their weight on his left leg. "Now pizza and beer," he said as he returned her to her feet.

oOoOo

After lunch, Chase and Foreman completed the difficult task of switching the study's furniture for Cameron's bedroom set, while Wilson carried in the smaller things under House's watchful eye.

"No, no no. That has to go in the kitchen. Not _there_. By the sink.

Cameron can't carry those books from there, put them by the shelf.

That's going to hang by the piano, put it in the corner."

Cameron carried what she could, boxes. She tried to distract him from harassing Wilson by calling him into the bedroom. "I need your help dividing the closet?"

He walked in, put his palm on the first shirt, and shoved all the clothes over to the right. His hand snaked out, and he pulled her into the closet, pressing her against the wall in the now empty half.

"House, I've been working…"

He kissed her neck, "Mmm," he murmured against her damp skin. "Dirty." His hand cupped her breast through her top while he nipped and sucked behind her ear. "What did you really want me in here for, Cameron."

She moaned; she loved hearing him say her name. She could feel his tongue tracing over her throat, pausing to feel her pulse. "I—ah—I'm distracting you while Wilson breaks that hideous lamp."

"Impressive strategy. That lamp is from my mother," he slid his hand down, and cupped her between her thighs, through her yoga pants, making her gasp and grab his wrist.

"Not now," she whispered, but he felt her grip on his wrist not pushing his hand away but pushing him harder against her.

He chuckled. "Not now," he agreed. With one last caress and kiss on the lips he left her to unpack her clothes.

oOoOo

They all rode back to Cameron's apartment to unpack the office furniture and retrieve their cars. House left Cameron and Wilson by the truck to talk to Chase and Foreman. '_The awkward part_,' he thought.

"It must be nice to know you have a fall back career—moving. You're good."

They couldn't help but grin; he was House. Foreman shook his head. "Thanks, I think."

"You guys should come over for poker next Friday." He almost couldn't believe he'd said it, and they seemed just as shocked.

Chase recovered first. "Should we…bring anything?"

"Dates. And cash."

"Right."

"Thanks guys," he said, and turned to walk away before they could reply.

He walked over to Wilson and Cameron, who sensed he would like to say goodbye privately. "I'll wait in the car."

"Think about what you want for dinner," he called to her as she walked away. He turned to Wilson. "So."

Wilson shook his head, and looked at the desk beside the dumpster. "The study."

"It's not a big deal," House said as he kicked at a stray rock.

Wilson stared at him until he looked up. "You are so gone."

"Send me the bill for the truck, ok?"

Wilson turned toward the truck, still mumbling, "So gone," under his breath.


	29. Play Me Something

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note:**

For my baby—every time you play the piano, I imagine you're playing me.

**29**

Cameron woke up Sunday to the gentle sound of Ben Fold's Five's _Brick. _Eventually she realized it was House playing piano; the first time he'd ever played while she was there. After a long day of packing, they had barely summoning the energy to strip before collapsed into bed. It surprised her that he was first out of bed. She shrugged into her silk robe and crept into the living room. She stood a bit behind him, transfixed.

He didn't stay on any one song through completion, and he seemed to focus on no single theme or genre. He jumped around: pop, jazz, classical, ragtime. In these moods, he used the piano mostly to keep part of his mind occupied; he let his hands play what they would. When he heard himself playing _Allison_ he looked around him with a jerk, and noticed her watching. "Hmm. You live here now."

"I do." She smiled.

"Come sit down." House shifted to make more room on the bench, but she instead used the space as a step, and gracefully swung up and sat gently in front of him on the keys, eliciting a garish but brief protest from the instrument. She rested one foot on the bench on either side of him, clearly revealing there was nothing under the filmy robe. He chortled.

"Play me something."

"Play you…" he trailed off thoughtfully, trying to choose a piece. In college, a badly sprained wrist had necessitated he learn a few classical songs written for only the left hand. He began one of these. As his left hand moved independently, his right began to trace a path from her ankle, up her inner calf, and along her inner thigh. Her eyes watched his fingers move on the keys. Meanwhile she felt his other hand trailing against her skin, somehow perfectly in time with the music though it barely moved.

His fingers reached the top of her inner thigh, and traced patters delicately on the skin. Patterns not like playing piano keys, but somehow inexorably tied to what his other hand was doing, to the music. She squirmed, trying to create more pressure, trying to be touched.

Her sigh of frustration became a moan as two fingers slipped gently between her lips, teasingly, like the lilting melody. His touch was exactly like the music, because he was generating both. The music built and he abruptly, quickly pushed in a finger, then two. A hard chord and his thumb brushed her clit for the first time. Then as the music steadied, he continued to massage her there as his long fingers slid into her. He felt her squeeze his fingers, hold them; he wanted to be inside her.

He looked up at her, and suddenly it was too much. Her hands shot out to hold his face, pulling him forward for a deep kiss. The surprise made him flub a note, but he recovered, and increased tempo. He could tell she was close from the way she moaned against his tongue. His plunging fingers curled forward on every thrust, and his thumb moved fast against her clit. As the music peaked and the song concluded, he felt her spasm around his fingers.

Her fingers applied pressure under his chin, bringing him to his feet. She pulled out of the kiss, "Fuck me." Now her hands were at his waistband, pushing his pants out of her way.

As he slid into her, her hands braced against the keys. With every stroke they elicited harsh dissonance from the piano. Just as the he had matched his motions to the delicate classical, he now mimicked the harsh sound. He fucked her deep and fast, his arms wrapping around her, his mouth on her neck. He was already so close. He growled, "Cameron," as his hand moved between them to massage her clit.

"So good," she moaned, tipping back her head. She would have liked it to go on all day, but she was greedy to come again. Her palms on the keys took most of her weight has she lifted off the piano to meet each thrust, the instrument clamoring along with her moans. She was hovering at the edge. "Oh god. House, come; I want you to—oh, _yes_."

As always, nothing was hotter than the sight and sound of the other getting off. He gripped her hips and fucked her harder; he could feel the pulsing of her climax in her clit under his fingers. She contracted around his cock, and he lost it; felt pleasure so intense and sharp that he lost his breath, saw spots.

They clung together a while as he faded inside her and they controlled their panting. Then he sank back onto the bench. He kissed her knee, then rested his head against her thigh. Unconsciously she moved her hand to his hair to massage his scalp and neck.

Out of his sight, she kept opening her mouth to speak, but then rejecting everything as not right for the moment. _I love you. You're amazing. I'm madly, hopelessly, desperately in love with you. You're the fucking best I've ever had._ Instead she bent and kissed his temple, and resolved to save such sentiments for the journal.


	30. Caught

**Disclaimer:** the author does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

**Author's Note: **For KateJ, because she deserves it, and for all the people who are standing by the House/Cameron ship when things look bleak.

Thank you in advance for your comments, which keep me writing this story against my better judgment.

**30**

House stood at the white board adding the newest symptom: vomiting, convulsions, nephritis, and now coma. He turned to them for suggestions.

Foreman crossed his arms. "Considering his job, it could be any of a thousand different toxins."

"His whole research is geared toward isolating new poisons." Chase sat down in defeat. "Even when we find out which one he exposed himself to, it's doubtful we can treat him."

House glanced from Cameron to Chase. "Cameron says Chase doesn't have it."

Chase scoffed. "She didn't say anything."

Cameron looked up at House. "Heavy metal toxicity."

"I'm pretty sure _organic_ chemistry means no metals," Chase returned.

House shook his head. "Organic products, but they use metals in their reactions. All the metals. Chase and Foreman head to the lab and find out what he's been exposed to. Interview the other scientists, check his notebooks. Leave now; this guy doesn't have much time."

House watched them leave, then said to Cameron, "those signals are just for poker—if you use them at work they're going to catch on and it won't work on Friday."

"I was practicing."

"I don't think you need anymore practice. Test him: lead, palladium, silver, copper, mercury…in that order. When you know which one, start him on chelation therapy."

oOoOo

House had the place to himself. Cameron was out celebrating with the boys, another life saved. Chase and Foreman had eventually learned the patient recently did a lead tetra acetate oxidation on a kilogram scale, sans gloves. They would never need to know that by the time they called Cameron already had him on EDTA. They might be out quite late.

When unexpected privacy presented itself, House only considered one activity for the night. He stretched out on the bed with Cameron's journal. So far he had been successful at his goal of not reading it cover to cover. Somehow he thought _that_ might be an invasion of privacy. But if he flipped it fell open to a certain page, who could blame him for reading, right?

He arranged for it to "fall open" to a part of the journal he knew would be before she started her mission to woo him.

_I barely stopped myself yelling at Cuddy today to 'BUTTON YOUR BLOUSE' and' KEEP YOUR GOD DAMNED HANDS OFF.' _

_Do you want her? I tried to cheer myself with the thought that if you wanted her, you'd be with her. But then I realized that applies to me too, so I had to abandon that idea. You're not with me, but I think I know you want me._

Do you want her?

_Ohmygod, if you and her end up together I will REALLY not be able to take it. The very thought of it is making me so angry right now my cheeks are red-hot. Just don't even do it: she's all wrong for you. She thinks she's got some special insight into you just because she's got enough brains to notice you're brilliant. She still thinks she can change you._

I may not be a genius, but at least I can tell that you can't be manipulated or molded.

_Even though every time you mention her, it's with derision, it still kills me every time you mention her. I can't hear you say her name and not picture you saying it in a romantic context. A sexual context. _

_Please please please: celibacy before Cuddy. Please._

House laughed. She had nothing at all to worry about. Nevertheless, the fact that she _did_ worry was intensely gratifying. He already thought of Cameron as one of his possessions: she was _his_ and no one else should look, much less touch. That she was thinking of him jealously…it would be hard not to bait her into saying something like this out loud. He closed his eyes and imagined her turning on Cuddy, yelling at the top of her voice, "KEEP YOUR GOD DAMNED HANDS OFF!" He snickered.

He turned to the most recent entry, because he had an idea what it would be about. A glance confirmed his guess. Momentarily he placed the journal on the bed while he removed his t-shirt and pushed his pants and boxers out of the way. In his left hand he holds the journal; in his right hand he holds his cock.

_Holy hell._

_You're already asleep, and no surprise because HOLY HELL did you ever just give it to me good. _

_I was lying in bed on my back, already for bed in my nightie and finishing up some work on my article on the laptop when you came in. I thought you were just getting into bed next to me, then all the sudden 'click' you've closed the laptop and dropped it into the dirty laundry and 'whoosh' you're pulling me by my hips into the center of the bed. _

_I think I said something like, "What are you doing?" as you pushed aside your boxers and my panties._

_But I definitely remember you said, "I'm fucking you," and you shoved into me on 'fucking,' and how do you get hotter every single day? I thought I was going to burn alive. _

_So out of nowhere suddenly you're slamming into me, which I'm sure had to hurt like hell, but I love when you take me like that so I can feel your stubble on my cheek and your breath on my neck. Ohmygod your breath on my neck…I might come again just writing about it. _

_Then when you have me thinking 'fuck me, fuck me, I'm need to come so fucking bad,' your hand slips under my head and you grab my hair. Not pulling really, just sort of gripping, and I came on the spot. You absolutely need to do that again. _

Stroking his cock, he re-reads the passage three times. Now he leaves the journal on the bed beside him, closes his eyes and pictures the scene: the last time he fucked Cameron. She had looked so cute working in his bed, he just had to take her _right that second._ No time to even take off either of their clothes. It had been fast and hard and primal. He'd had no idea how hot grabbing her hair would be until he did it. Now the memory of it, and the new knowledge that she had got off on it too, had him teetering on the edge of a huge climax.

Cameron watched from behind the cracked-open bedroom door. She had entered stealthily in a pre-meditated attempt to find out what he did when unobserved. What she found was far better than she could possibly have imagined. His big hand around his big cock, his eyes on her writing.

She watched his hand slide up and down, his thumb on the head, the way he squeezed it, stroked it; what areas he gave the most attention. It was probably going to prove a very useful education in hand jobs, but more than that, it was perhaps the most erotic thing she'd ever seen. Seeing him at this was panty-creamingly hot. Knowing that it was because of something _she wrote_, that he was so clearly _using her words to get off_…it was irresistible. Her hand slipped into her panties.

Now he increased his pace; his hand moved furiously fast. His face was red, his eyes squeezed shut, and his breath came in gasps and groans. She heard "Oh, Cameron," and saw white semen land on his taught abs. She gripped the doorframe hard to keep from going in to lick it off. Instead she stole out silently, giving him a few minutes to compose himself before she made her 'public' entrance to the condo.

She closed the door harder than usual, noisily tossed her keys onto the side table. "House?"

"Uh, I'm in the bedroom," he called out. She met him standing just inside the bedroom door. "You're home early," he said as he gave her a quick kiss. 

"I missed you." She tossed her hand bag in the corner. "I want to fuck you."

"I…um…what? You just got in, you want me to get you a drink?"

"I've just had a drink," she said, her hands on the fly of his jeans. "I want to fuck you."

"Well, I could use a drink," he tried in vain to sweep past her out of the bedroom. She pulled his shirt over his head, then pushed him back onto the bed. She pulled off his pants, loving the way he looked when he lifted his hips to let her take them. "What's got into you," he asked.

Cameron merely raised her eyebrows at him, and crawled between his bent knees. She took him in her hand and pumped, ran her tongue around the head. He was slightly slow to harden, and it was thrilling to watch, to be the cause of his arousal. For the second time in ten minutes. She turned her head and slid her mouth from root to tip on both sides, leaving the shaft shiny with lubrication. Then she put her mouth and hands on him, and began to suck in earnest.

Soon he was so hard she couldn't resist having him inside her. She sat back on her knees and pulled her dress over her head, discarded her underwear and bra. She straddled his hips and slowly lowered herself on his rock-hard prick. "Mmm, that's it," she groaned.

She started to grind above him, fuck him. House reached for her hands and interlaced her fingers in his: they both like having something to squeeze during sex. She braced her weight by pressing on his arms so she could use more force. Within minutes her skin is flushed and damp, her hair clings to her cheeks.

"Tell me when you're close."

"I'm close _now_," he answered through gritted teeth.

"Ohgod." Her eyes closed at his words, and she convulsed around him. She moved faster above him, rubbing her body against his as hard as she could. By pushing herself this way, not letting up when she comes, she can sometimes come again much harder. "I need more," she begged.

House gripped her hips and flipped her onto her back, ignoring his protesting thigh. With is weight mostly on his left side, he fucks her hard and deep. His right hand tangles in her hair, takes a tight handful. Each of them knows this move turns the _other_ on, and it's more than enough to make them come screamingly hard. Cameron's last thought before she lost control was, '_I knew that journal would come in handy.'_


	31. You're Lying

**Chapter 31: You're Lying**

Cameron sat snuggled against House's side on the leather sofa, flipping through Tivo's recorded programs. "The L Word?" She turned to watch his face.

"I watch it on mute."

Cameron's eyes narrowed, and she turned fully to kneel beside him. "So I had heard. But you don't, do you. You listen to the sound."

"I don't."

Cameron broke into a huge smile. "You're lying. You have a tell."

"I don't listen to the sound, and I _don't_ have a tell. Poker lessons are giving you a god complex."

Cameron was so elated at her achievement that she laughed out loud. "I'll prove it. I'll ask you three questions; you lie to one of them, and I'll spot it."

He sighed. "Do your worst."

"What color boxers are you wearing?"

"I don't even know."

"What's your favorite salad dressing?"

"French."

"What's your mother's middle name?"

"Celia."  
Cameron grinned. "French is not your favorite."

Now it was House's turn to narrow his eyes. "Caesar is better. How did you do that?"

"You do this thing with your lips." She smiled hugely and raised her voice, "YOU watch the L WORD. You like the stories! You like the drama and the love and the closeness! YOU—you only want people to think you're heartless."

House looked away and sighed heavily. "You have to tell me what I do with my lips."

"Oh, you can't stop that. You watch a woman-centric romantic drama! I'm calling Wilson."

House caught Cameron by the wrist. "Wilson can't know how to lie-detect me."

"Oh?"

He pulled her by the wrist to kneel straddling his lap. "I watch the L Word for hot girl-on-girl action."

"Liar."

House slid his hands up the back of her thighs and gripped her ass, making her shiver. "I just want you for your body."

"Liar again," she said, amused. He was so cute to her; telling that lie was the same as saying 'I love you.'

"I want you."

Cameron looked between them, at the obvious bulge in his jeans. "That I believe." She leaned down to kiss him, slow and sensual, her silky black waves falling against his face. "But I want to watch the L Word." She pulled her knee back over him and sat down, grabbing the remote.

"Prick-tease!" House pushed her to lie on her back and attempted to steal the remote. She held it out of reach, so he pinned her, holding her wrists over her head with his left hand so he could pluck away the remote with his right. He turned off the TV and tossed the remote aside. "Perhaps you didn't understand," he said in a teasingly dark tone. "I want you NOW."

She playfully struggled against his grip, but he held her wrists against the soft leather of the chair's arm. With his free hand he pushed her tank top up over her breasts and pulled down her bra. He cupped her breast and ran his thumb over her nipple, as he took the other in his mouth. "House," she sighed.

He looked up at her. He very slightly relaxed his hold on her arms. "Are you ready to play nice?"

She smiled coyly, and seductively shook her head.

House reached between then and unbuttoned the fly of her jeans. He pushed his hand inside her panties, brushing over her clit as he slipped the tip of his finger inside her. "Oh, you want it _bad_."

"Mhmm."

He pushed his finger further in. She lifted her hips in encouragement, but he was too hampered by her clothes to be effective. He pulled her pants and panties down, just enough to be out of the way. He did the same to himself, all the while struggling to perform these tasks one-handed. 

He could feel the wet heat rising off her, hitting his erection. He looked down at her, still dressed yet completely exposed. This was the great thing about having her here: the ability to be spontaneous. To fuck her at a moment's notice. He pushed into her. Only now did he let her hands go, and she immediately clutched him by his jeans, pulling him to her harder.

The urgency, the tangled clothes--Cameron was already composing what she'd write about it in her mind; already imaging House reading it later. Making himself come at the memory. She writhed against him. "Harder," she begged.

"I fucking love it when you say _harder_."

"Harder," she repeated, and he definitely responded. He grabbed her hips tightly and fucked her as hard and fast as the tightness in his leg would allow. "Harder," she moaned, satisfied now. She repeated it over and over, just reveling in how good it felt and how much she could turn him on with just one word.

She could feel it building, "Don't stop—right there…" There center of the sole of each of her feet was hot and tingling; her toes curled. She came so hard her hearing was affected: House's breathing seemed distant. When she came to her senses a bit he was still making love to her, his eyes on her body. "House," she said, and he looked up into her eyes. "Come for me."

He couldn't not, now that she'd said it. "Cameron," he groaned, and buried himself inside her, coming hard.

Now they readjusted themselves and their clothes, to snuggle on the couch. As soon as Cameron had zipped her fly, she was reaching for the remote. "Let's see what this show is all about now."

"Are you sure? It's strangely addictive. I don't want you…switching teams."

She smiled, and cupped his groin through his jeans. "You have nothing to worry about."


	32. Appetizers

**Chapter 32: Appetizers**

House walked up behind Cameron and put his hand on the small of her back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That kind of physical attention from him always served better than a dozen verbal I love you's. He didn't have to tell her what she meant to him because he showed it every minute. "What the hell are those," he asked.

"Asian chicken salad lettuce wraps."

He leaned on the counter so he could watch her fill the lettuce. "I said poker food."

"Doyle Brunson didn't have a chapter on appetizers, so I used my judgment."

He shook his head in feigned disapproval. "What else have you got?"

"Beer—"

"I want scotch," he interrupted.

"That's fine, there's going to be other people here," she answered, amused. "Onion rings, mini pizzas, hot wings—"

"What kind of hot wings?"

"You know, um…Frank's Red Hot, blue cheese dressing…"

"You did good." He reached out and took a lettuce wrap from her tray.

Cameron smiled. She didn't _need_ his approval, but it felt amazing every time he complimented her. "Don't eat them all, they'll be here soon." She set the last wrap on the tray, and wrapped it with plastic wrap as he watched. She placed them in the fridge, and as she closed it he turned her by her arm, pressing her against the fridge for a long, hot kiss.

He pulled away, leaving her breathless for a moment. "Oh really," she asked.

"Yeah."

She raised her eyebrows. "Now?"

"Now."

She glanced at the clock over the stove. "Seriously, they're going to be here…" He gave her a penetrating look. She grinned. "It gets you when they come over, doesn't it. Having them see us together…"

He didn't answer, just took her by the wrist and dragged a giggling Cameron from the kitchen.

They stripped quickly. When Cameron was down to her pink panties he was already lying on the bed, and he pulled her roughly to him.

He leaned up on his elbow and ran his hand up her leg, then cupped her through her warm, damp panties. "Already so wet," he murmurs as he pushes the fabric between her lips.

"Mmhmm," she moans as his fingers trace up and down on the fabric, circling her clit. Now one finger slipped around her panties to touch her, bare. She gasped, and whispered, "We don't have time for this…"

"We always have time for this." House was naturally an experimentalist, and his exhaustive study of her climaxes had shown that a few minutes of warm up now would save a lot of time later.

He continued to touch her. He loved watching her reaction; watching what he did to her. Now her panties were mostly pushed aside; only occasionally did he stroke her through the wet satin. He grinned when she groaned through gritted teeth, "You have to fuck me _now_."

House guided her to kneel at the edge of the bed, while he stood behind her. "Spread your knees further," he directed. He bent down and ran his tongue so it slipped under the edge of her underwear. He licked her through the wet fabric, mouthing her clit and making her moan. Then she shivered as he took the garment in his teeth and pulled it down to mid-thigh.

House licked the denuded flesh, and she moaned, "Already so close."

"I know." He positioned himself at her entrance. In three strokes he had slammed into her fully, so now his body hit her backside audibly with each thrust. Cameron gripped the sheets tightly and rocked herself back forcibly to meet him each time.

House licked his fingertips and smeared the wetness against her clit. He rhythmically rubbed circles as he fucked her: hard and deep and fast. "I'm close," he groaned.

"More." 

He tried to hold off and managed for a few moments until they heard pounding on the front door. It was too much. He yelled, "Coming!" and the pounding stopped.

"Oh_god_." The thought that he just announced his orgasm to their party guests pushed Cameron over the edge. She put her hand over his on her clit, slowing his movements, holding him to her as waves of sensation hit her.

When she released his hand, he threw his clothes on as fast as possible. "Hurry out; I make a shitty hostess." He left her to recover and dress.

House opened the door to Wilson, who greeted him with, "Took you long enough."

"I was—"

Wilson interrupted him. "You were doing exactly what I'd be doing if I lived with her; I could hear you all the way down the hall. What are we drinking?"

House poured two scotches and handed him one. They had time for only a single sip before Cameron joined them. Their jaws dropped.

Skin tight low-rider boot cut jeans over heels revealed a tantalizing glimpse of hipbone. She wore a dark red satin top that fit her perfectly. Although their position hadn't been too rough on her hair, she had an irresistible, slightly-tousled look. She had freshly applied red lipstick and dressed in minutes: effortlessly beautiful.

She looked from one gaping mouth to the other. "Oh, good. I was aiming for 'distracting' tonight."

Wilson gulped, his eyes still trapped somewhere below her shoulders. "I think you may have overshot it." He took a long gulp of scotch, and recovered himself. "So who are we expecting?"

House rattled off, "Blackie, Blondie, and Janitor."

Wilson cocked his head to the side. "No Cuddy?"

House snorted. "No, she and her flesh melons will be here too."


	33. I Know

**Chapter 33: I know**

Cameron would be away for a while at the salon, and House knew exactly how he planned to spend the time. It was his first chance since the poker game to get a peek at the journal. He hoped there'd be a new entry, and he wasn't disappointed.

He had slept in a t-shirt and boxers, and he still wore them. He grabbed the journal, piled up the pillows, and settled back into bed to read.

He quickly read through their quickie before the game. He could feel himself starting to get hard, but he knew there was hotter content ahead. Next he came to her account of the game itself.

_When I came out I was dressed for poker, and I could instantly tell it was working when I saw Wilson. I should find someone to introduce him to…anyway. I could feel your eyes on me. I felt like you were proud to show me off—it was incredibly sexy. That feeling only got stronger when the rest of them showed up. I feel lame saying so, but it was just special, being so _us_ in public. I love you._

Poker is not that fun to write about, so I will keep to the memorable highlights. My favorite parts were:

Chase: What's it called when you have four clubs?

You: A flush draw.

Chase: I don't remember what that beats…?

You: That's because it doesn't.

Chase being the first to run out of chips, and spending the remainder of the night in a sulk.

Watching everyone for the tells you warned me about. They worked every time. After five minutes of that the thought occurred to me that you probably know what I'm thinking every minute of every day. That made me think of sex, and I looked up at you and caught you staring. You knew, didn't you.

Winnowing down everyone's chip stack and picking them off one by one, then carefully choosing the hand to take them out on. Losers.

But my favorite part was the end, looking into your eyes and being able to read that this was the hand, let's just end it and get them all out of the house. Someday we should play each other to win though…I quite liked pulling all those chips over to my side of the table.

I think only Wilson and Janitor knew enough about poker to realize you were dumping your chips.

So I saw the last person off, and when I came back inside you were cleaning up_ which about melted me into a pile of in-love-with-you goo. I came up behind you and wrapped my arms around your waist; pressed my cheek to your back._

You said, "I can't do this when you're doing that." That was exactly what I had in mind, so I slid my hands under the hem of your shirt and ran them over your skin. "Now I know your secret. Cleaning gets you hot."

I pushed your shirt up your back, and you helped me take it off and turned to face me with the most lecherous "I win" smile on your face.

I unzipped your pants and you compliantly kicked off your shoes and clothes, and didn't hesitate to hop up on the poker table when I pressed my index finger to your chest.

I love the way your eyes feel on me when I'm undressing, like you turn me into beautiful by not seeing any flaws. I'd say there there's nothing sexier, but there is.

Sexier is climbing up to kneel on green felt while I slowly slide your hard cock into my tight hot pussy—beating them all at life right after we beat them all at cards. You have no idea how sexy you are. The way you hold my hips, the way you look up at me while I'm fucking you as hard and fast as I can. I love the sounds you make, the little faces you pull when it's really good. The best part is—I don't know why—lately when it's hard and fast like this it just feels like I'm coming _**constantly**__. Actually so constantly that it's hard to keep up the pace. But it works, and I just come and come and come until I feel you coming too. _

Mmmm. It was amazing. It's hot to write about it—probably has hot as it will be for you to read about it.

Reaching the end of the page, House felt the blood drain from his head. Did she know? He was too close to stop, and in fact only increased the pace of the long strokes his hand was making on his thick hard-on. He gathered his bravery and turned the page.

_Yes. I know you read it._

I've always known…the way you feel you know something but you don't actually check because you don't want to be proved wrong.

Then I saw you reading it one night.

Oh. My. God.

That had to be the most erotic thing that's ever happened to me: seeing you naked with my book in hand, reading my words to you and getting off on them. Watching you fuck yourself for me. I'm dripping wet just thinking about it. 

And when I get home I'm going to know you read this part too, because the room is going to smell like sex and I hope you won't have worn yourself out because I'm going to want to fuck you _**instantly**__._

I can't wait.

House could only gasp as he came. His arm holding the book flopped to the mattress as he gave is cock a few last lazy strokes.

She knew. Just how she had always known everything about him, known she could bag him if she waited him out. It felt like he was always trying to pay her back for how amazing she was and it would never, ever be enough.

He instantly knew he wanted to do something for her, but it had to be something big. He lay back on the bed, naked and spent, and began to scheme. Everything seemed small relative to what she'd done for him: chased him for weeks, wrote him this book.

He reached to the night stand for a tennis ball and began to throw it against the wall opposite the headboard, each time hitting the perfect spot so it would sail back to his hands. Like always, his mind emptied to work its problem-solving magic. Possible solutions began to come to him, but each was rejected as being insufficient, and a long time passed.

When the final answer came to him, it was so good he sat bolt upright in bed, caught the ball and held it. He smiled at his own brilliance. It was perfect, but it would take a lot of planning. No point even starting today.

He looked at the clock; she'd be home soon. He jumped in the shower.

oOoOoOo

House heard her car pull up, and took his position. As she walked in the door, he shoved it closed. "Hair looks good," he said as he pushed her up against the door and kissed her urgently.

She managed to ask through the kiss, "What's going on?"

"I want you."

She smiled as his hand sneaked inside the low cut V of her top and into her bra to tease her nipple. "I missed you too," she laughed. Now he was kissing her neck, and she unconsciously tipped her chin up to give him better access.

Before she knew what had happened, House had relieved her of all her clothes so that she stood in the middle of the sunlit living room in just her shoes, while he was still fully dressed. He had not stopped kissing her—her mouth, her throat, her breasts—and his hands hadn't stopped trailing over her skin. "Over the back of the couch," he mumbled in her ear as he sucked her earlobe between his lips. 

Together the shuffled over to the sofa, and he turned her to face it and bent her over the back. She slid her hands over the soft black leather and held on tight. It was one of their favorite positions because it was easy for him to put all his weight on his left leg and just _hammer_ into her.

House didn't strip, but let his pants fall to his knees. He pressed into her, starting slow and shallow. He took in how perfect she was, from the shiny curls spilling onto the seat of the couch, up her perfect neck to the creamy expanse of her back—absolutely unblemished but for the small plastic birth control patch. His hands gripped her waist and he started to fuck her harder, his thumb tracing the little square.

"Cameron, do you ever want to marry me?"

He hadn't meant to ask that. It had just slipped out, but he couldn't feel regret when she instantly answered, "Yes," in so matter a fact away it was clear she had taken it as a question about the future, not a proposal of marriage.

"Do you ever want to have kids with me?"

"Yes." 

He slid his hands part way up her sides and then back to her waist. "When?"

"…Whenever."

Without thought or pause House ripped the sticky patch off her skin and tossed it aside. House never had to think twice after deciding he wanted something; he was the kind of guy who would pass a motorcycle dealer and drive home on a bike. Although he knew removing the patch wouldn't get her pregnant _today_, there was something primal and erotic about knowing that now there was nothing to stop it happening. Now she was his.

She must have felt the same way, because she breathed, "Fuck that's sexy," and contracted around him.

House grabbed her hips and fucked her hard and fast as he could. In his mind the words of her journal were replaying in his mind. _Lately when it's hard and fast like this it just feels like I'm coming __**constantly**_ It worked; she went wild—shaking, spasming, and groaning below him. 

He started to feel the strain in his thigh, and knew it couldn't last forever. He rubbed the recently denuded patch of skin on her back with his thumb, and came hard and deep inside her. 

Cameron maneuvered him to the bedroom and coaxed him from his clothes, and they spent a perfect Saturday in bed: cuddling, touching, talking and occasionally fucking. Every time his hand slid over her belly—and it seemed he couldn't help himself—Cameron melted in delight. She had never felt more wanted.

**Author's Note:** This story will be wrapping up soon, possibly as little as one chapter left. You can say you want a sequel but please don't say you don't want it to end. It has to.


	34. Any Time You Want

Writing _Time Is On My Side_ has been my Mary Poppins: it fixed my life, and now that I'm perfectly happy it's time for it to be over. That doesn't make me any less sad to see it go. Thank you to everyone who has helped me with it, because I really couldn't have done so nice a job with out you. Thank you to my fellow authors for encouraging me along the way and making me feel special, especially **naiveeve**. Thank you to the people who have said it's they're favorite (my favorite word to hear!) especially **katej**. Thank you to everyone who has commented: you will never know how much it has meant to me. Thank you to **dragynflies** for the perfect ending, to this story and mine.

**Chapter 34: Any Time You Want**

"A non-emergency for a change." House handed them each a patient file and sauntered to the whiteboard. "Patient feels creepy crawlies that no one can see."

When Cameron opened hers she found a red envelope on top of the history marked "Open at 4pm." As Chase and Foreman read the history she'd taken, she gave House a puzzled look. He ignored it.

Chase leaned back in his chair. "Delusional parasitosis."

"Repeating her GP's diagnosis, bold tactic." House wrote 'actual parasites' on the whiteboard. "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you."

"It doesn't mean they are after you either," Forman retorted. "If there were parasites the GP would have diagnosed them."

House rolled his eyes. "Because so many of our patients were properly diagnosed by their quack of a family doctor."

Cameron got over her surprise and curiosity about the card enough to chime in. "Even if there is no medical cause of the lesions we should find out the psychological cause." 

"Chase and Foreman search the home, Cameron run labs. Look at the skin under a microscope, I bet GP didn't bother."

Chase was skeptical. "What exactly are we looking for at the home?" 

"Maybe you'll develop delusions of parasites too. Then at least you'll take an active interest in the case."

oOoOoOo

By noon Cameron had identified four _different_ parasites affecting the patient's skin: all of them easy to miss, all of them things a healthy immune system would have precluded. By afternoon treatment seemed to be confirming their tentative diagnosis of borreliosis as the underlying cause. She checked on the patient one last time, then hung up her lab coat and stethoscope at her desk, and opened the card.

_Do you remember the first time you asked me out? You didn't have a chance, and you knew it. No fear of rejection. Or if you were afraid you didn't let it stop you. All those times I said no it was because I was sure that once you had me you'd realize your mistake and drop me like a bad habit._

I couldn't take losing you.

I wanted you to want me, and I can't understand why you still do.

You'll find the next card where you first asked me out.

Cameron replaced the card in the envelope and looked around. She didn't see him, but she felt like he was watching. She didn't know where this whole thing was leading, but she had a feeling it was somewhere past the hospital's cafeteria. Her eyes were damp with emotion as she smoothed her fingers over the envelope. After all she'd written for him it was gorgeous to have something tangible from him—physical evidence that he loved her.

oOoOoOo

The cafeteria was mostly deserted. She made her way over to the table where she'd interrupted House's lunch with Wilson to invite him to see Borat. She still hadn't seen it and she made a mental note to rent it for the weekend. On the table she found a discarded tray: crust of rye bread and an empty coke can. The floor was littered with pickle slices. House had been here. Beside the tray was envelope number two.

_The first time you kissed me was a missed opportunity for you—I'd have done anything you said._

That was the first time I realized you weren't as innocent as you looked, that you might actually be serious, might have always been serious. It was a torturous thought: that I could have had you all that time, and didn't.

She smiled as she closed the envelope, then carried his tray to the trash can. The pickle slices she left behind. Maybe eventually the cafeteria staff would get the message. It annoyed her that they picked on him; that was her job.

oOoOoOo

She found the third note taped to the wall in a shadowed alcove just around the corner from Cuddy's office. She remembered how sexy it had been when he pulled her out of sight, how her face had flushed and her heart raced when she kissed him. It was completely unplanned—she had even made a date with Parker that afternoon! She hadn't been able to resist him then, and she likely never would. 

_There's no particularly romantic reason to send you up there, but he misses you. And I think that missing you would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me._

I told him not to get any ideas. You're mine.

She giggled. She supposed it _could_ mean Wilson, but she highly doubted it. She made for the elevator.

oOoOoOo

Stan lay in his bed, quiet and long-suffering as always. An envelope stood propped by the fingers of each of his hands. The envelope in the near hand was red and matched the others she carried, while the far hand bore a pink one. She opened that first.

_Choose me instead. You know he's an asshole._

She laughed and added the note to her collection. "You're probably right Stan, but there's something about him. I'm sorry." She kissed his forehead, then opened the red envelope.

_The time we…violated hospital policy…_

It was the most cryptic note so far—the team was _always_ violating hospital policy. But she knew this "we" didn't refer to the team. She crossed her fingers that she'd find more than a card in the MRI control room. She was in the mood for a repeat performance.

oOoOoOo

She was only mildly disappointed to find an envelope instead of him, and quickly opened it. She felt herself getting wet as she read.

_Having you in the hospital was a long standing fantasy of mine. Even before you were hired; I fantasized about you during your interview. So I was completely stoked that you let me get away with it._

Then when I asked you if you'd ever imagined us there, and you said yes—fuck. Nothing could be hotter than knowing that you fantasized about it too. Knowing that you wanted me, knowing that anyone could see us…it was amazing. Every time with you is amazing.

Of course, I'm not as good a writer as you are.

He was a better actor than she had thought! She wondered how she had missed the fact he'd read her latest journal entry. How long had he been planning this? Cameron practically ran to her car.

oOoOoOo

He wasn't parked on their block, and her fears were confirmed when she searched the apartment. He wasn't there. She sighed heavily, and walked to the book case. Tucked into the journal was a red envelope. Her hands shook with excitement and she opened it.

_What you wrote—The Story of You and Me—nothing I could say could ever come close to paying you back. Except maybe,_

I will always love you. I want you to be mine forever. Marry me.

She read it twice to be sure. "Oh my god."

"You didn't even notice the box."

Cameron gasped and spun around to see House leaning in the doorway. She stood stunned as he walked towards her and took the small velvet box from the bookshelf, opened it, and slipped the ring on her finger. She kept staring at it, open-mouthed. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck in such a way that she could keep the ring in sight.

In a few seconds she had recovered enough to speak. "We're getting married," she said, in a tone that seemed to request confirmation.

"We're getting married. Anytime you want."

FIN


End file.
